Risky Business
by division-ten
Summary: It's not exactly the most expected thing to happen between them, but the universe is a place to expect the unexpected. And to think it all started with a simple EMP bomb… The story of how two genetically engineered grumps came to be a little more than friends.
1. And it all started with an EMP

**somelittlemonster_: Sooooooooo this was kinda unexpected. Totally not in a bad way, either. It's probably the more exciting for me than my other one-shot anthology. But this is going to actually follow a sort of plot, shockingly._**

**_Back on my stupid short 'Irresistible', fantastic author of the amazing 'Nova, We Have A Problem' anthology divisionten and I were passin' jokes about Rocket's many relationships. I made a joke about the Egg McMuffin, and then the idea of Rocket's kids he has with Gamora in the comics popped up._**

**_And the idea of these two together just CONFUSES me. Like, how do they even work out? Who asked who out? How in the HELL did they have kids? It's an underrated pairing it seems, too. But it does have its fans..._**

**_So this is going to tell that tale of events. But we have it set in the film universe because of the fact that I'm a little unfamiliar with the comic universe. I saw the film and THEN started the comic series. Whoops._**

**_And we've shook this up for ourselves a bit. We went into this with no set idea on how to start the actual story. The plan for now is to have each chapter deal with one of us starting up a story and having our character end in a humorous/awkward situation. Then the other will pick up where the other left off and carry the story on from there. And the other doesn't even know /what/ was written until it's posted. So this is divisionten's first time seein' this as well as all you guys._**

**_First person perspective just because we tell third person narratives rather differently. I'm takin' Rocket because he's where I feel more comfortable while divisionten will fill in Gamora's chapters with her awesome narrative that's a gazillion times better than me._**

**_I considered having Rocket and Gamora interact more during my initial drafts of this first chapter. But I changed my mind and instead decided to leave the interaction to absolutely nothing. The only reason I did this was for everyone to get a feel for where Rocket and Gamora are mentally since this is first person. But this does end in a way that will definitely deal with interaction after these first two chapters are finished up. I want to get a feel for divisionten's Gamora and vice-versa._**

**_I'm gonna shut my fuckin' trap now._**

**_So it all starts with Rocket and his struggle with an EMP bomb from the night before..._**

**_divisiontnen: As somelittlemonster stated, this is a _****_collaborative project. Odd numbered chapters are from Rocket's perspective, written by him, even numbered are Gamora's written by me. We don't see each other's chapters until they've been posted, so this is like a hardcore version of Once Upon a Time._**

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><p>I like to think my life was never meant to be normal.<p>

On top'a bein' something that wasn't meant to exist in this sense (no, this isn't an emotional-fest), I've been around the galaxy and done a thousand and fifty three things that are just unbelievably stunning or so ridiculous that they're just plain unbelievable. Met a tree that went from a partner in crime to, y'know, somethin' to call a friend. A best friend at that. Broke outta 22 prisons with that same tree. Name's Groot. Nearly lost an arm on a job when we got attacked by a massive hoard'a Svarnicks back on some backwater place. Believe me, the pay wasn't worth nearly losin' a limb. And of course, the most ridiculous escapade...

Met some dickfaces in the Kyln that soon became Prison #23 on my extensive list and saved the galaxy once, too. Think loads'a people know all about me 'n' my friends' ventures. Call us the Guardians of the Galaxy? Think ya might know a thing or few about us...

Er, well, maybe not. When people do actually recognize us, it's really spontaneous and surprising. But I'm gettin' used to it.

My life's so abnormal and "in your face" that I'm basically conditioned so that it /is/ normal to me. Nearly gettin' my fur burned off on the daily ain't even a big deal. Dealin' with open wounds all the time isn't somethin' I cringe at, even when they're terribly severe. Groot losin' limbs (mostly arms) happens now and then, but I don't panic like I did the first time it happened (seriously, the idiot could'a at least told me he could regenerate.) And it's all because of one simple fact that I just kinda had to accept.

My. Life. Isn't. Frickin'. Normal.

And to think that the one thing in my very unnatural and twist-turnin' lifetime that actually did catch me off guard and kinda gave me a different outlook on livin' in general started with an EMP bomb thrown by some Krylorian scumbag is just…

I can't find a word for it. I still don't get it, man. The galaxy's gotta weird sense'a humor, I guess. Thanks, pinky! Started somethin' amazing.

But the bar's the place this story /really/ began, I guess.

Woosh. Tack. Groot slams down another shot glass onto the bar counter, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. "I am Groot!" he says with a raised finger to the bartender. Another set, please! These are nearly finished!

He gives the dumb ol' tree a raised eyebrow.

But I'm there to translate. "Says another set, yellow skin," I tell the tender without makin' eye contact.

"Ah, alright. A moment, sir," he says and trudges off to get another few drinks for this dumb tree'a mine.

Usually Groot's me in this situation. Usually I'm the one to be drunk off'a my ass, five or so shots of whatever I feel like drinkin' already taken and more on the way.

Woosh. Tack. Groot repeats the process. I count the empty glasses in front of Groot, but have to start over once he takes down another. And another.

"Groot, don't go so fast. You're gonna choke." My voice feels strained as I speak, a cough tickling at the back of my mouth.

"I am Groot?" Groot says as he raises yet another glass to his wooden lips. Is there something wrong? You aren't drinking.

I still have my respective shots just sittin' in front of me, waiting to be taken down my windpipe.

I'm the type'a guy who drinks to anything. The weekend? Cheers! Successful mission? Cheers! Blood on my hands coz I'm trigger happy as hell? Cheers to that! Even when there's no reason to go out, I /still/ go out if I really feel like it.

But tonight's not really a night where I feel like celebratin' with the Losers of the Galaxy. Sure, we hit a big break in a case just last night and received an enormous pay. But what we'd endured, what /I'd/ endured myself to get catch the bastard left me in a state of pain I've never experienced.

EMPs aren't exactly kind to me. With a good percentage of my skeleton and brain enhanced by technical bits all throughout, even a tiny ion storm we pass through can send me into a frenzy. No, I don't go stone-cold comatose for months on end or lose my sentience completely. I go stone-cold for at least a couple hours and when I wake it's almost like a reset.

The only places where my body is part machine is on my skeleton and brain. Every other part of me? Completely organic due to genetic splicing. At least that's what I assume. There are parts of me that I know absolutely nothin' about but seem less important than what I previously mentioned. So for this EMP to only put my limbs into a state of paralyzation for a good ten, fifteen minutes is just confusing. The bomb that hit us didn't really render me unconscious like it usually does. It just tensed my entire body up and put a thousand…

Ya can't measure pain in units. Point is, every part'a me is achin'. Legs, back, neck, arms, shoulders. I should'a stayed at home and went to bed instead of comin' out for a drink.

"Here, take 'em." I push the tiny tray of my own drinks in Groot's direction when I see the way he's eyein' 'em.

"I am Groot?" Are you sure?

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't feel like drinkin' tonight." There is a beat of silence. "Remember the pulse bomb that went off last night?" Groot nods. "And how it shook me up real bad and made my whole body tense up for a good ten minutes?" Groot gives another silent nod as the blue liquid seeps into his mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm havin' some serious achin' in my limbs and back."

"I am Groot?" Do you know of any way to relieve yourself of such a pain, Rocket?

I shrug. "Usually the achin' comes and goes and it ain't too bad. But it's really puttin' a number on me, Groot. 'Sides usin' some pills, I don't know if this'll go away naturally or what."

Groot frowns and slides his row of now empty shot glasses (15-that's how many) to his left with a swift arm movement. "I am Groot." Perhaps you should consult a doctor tomorrow morning.  
>"No," I answer quickly. "Ya know how I feel about those, man. Brings up some…" I trail off because Groot knows where I'm headin' with that one.<p>

Groot gives an airy sigh and looks around the establishment. "I am Groot?" Where is our leader?

I rest my head in my palms and rub my eyes as a wave of intense pain strikes through my entire head. Great. This is just what I need. Achy joints, back pain, and a frickin' migraine. It started as a relatively minor ache, but now it's so intense my whole d'ast head feels numb. Soon enough I'm gonna start foamin' at the mouth and bitin' at people or somethin'.

"Who knows?" I spit bitterly. "Probably out on the d'ast dancin' floor coz he's insistin' on dancing or some shit." Did I mention we're at a club? No, don't think I did. Yeah, we're at this ridiculous place that Quill heard about and insisted we come one'a these days. Calls itself 'Angela's.' Now I'm never opposed to drinkin', like I already said. But clubs aren't my favorite thing in the galaxy.

Drunk people? Well, dependin' on the person, they can be okay. But they usually suck.

Dancin'? No matter what, that sucks.

Drunk people dancing? Makes me wanna bash my skull on the floor over and over. But I already feel like I did that, so I keep that to myself.

"I am Groot," the colossus says with the pointing of his finger. I see our two cold-blooded killers at that booth over there.

I look over at the booth where Drax and Gamora sit. They look to be in deep conversation about something that I obviously can't make out. I can read lips, but to a certain degree. When you're twenty feet away from me in a crowded club with music blarin' while I got a headache, the chances of me knowin' what you're talkin' about is highly unlikely. This probably applies to hearin' ya talk, too. But from what I can see, Drax says something that actually manages to make Gamora smile.

I just turn away from the sight of the two green lovebirds with an annoyed sigh, pinch the spot between my eyebrows as I shield my eyes from the light above the bar. It's a funny idea I've entertained a couple'a times now where Drax and Gamora would probably be couple'a the year. Never to either of 'em, of course. Only to Quill and Groot. Quill gives an eyeroll and Groot just says "Yes, indeed, of course."

Doubt it'd happen, really. Gamora's definitely the last person I see as the datin' type. And I don't mean to say that Gamora is /undateable/ at all. Nah, definitely not. She's certainly a pretty lady, got a likeable attitude. She's strong willed, our team's moral core. Pretty damn friendly once ya get passed that 'business first, fun later' attitude she tends to wear now and then. Also, she's an assassin who apparently doesn't dance even though I caught her doin' it once.

Didn't say a word, though. Just went to the bathroom and kept my mouth shut. It's good blackmail, though.

I can't even picture a rhetorical "dream man" with his arm draped around Gamora. Like, I just don't see her with anybody, especially with her fellow shipmates. Not Quill, not Drax, not Groot, and definitely not me. Honestly, if ya got a thing for me, ya probably have really low standards or ya just wanna screw with me.

But no biggy. I ain't a stuffy, soft loser. I can't afford to feel that way about anyone, and I certainly don't think of Gamora in that way at all. We're friends. Nothin' more than that. Yeah?

Yeah. Course.

I stop daydreamin' over the green assassin a minute later when Groot speaks again, "I am Gr-I am Groot." Where is-oh, you're right. He is most definitely drunk.

I turn away from the bar counter and look to the dance floor where Quill is dancing-no, I change my mind. He's fuckin' grinding a complete stranger who is probably just as drunk as he is. He's laughing obnoxiously loud, sayin' something I can't hear over the ridiculously loud bass pulsating throughout the air. In my usual, not-so-shitty-feelin' state'a mind, I'd go over there, say somethin' vulgar along the lines of "Ya get that rash treated yet, Star-Lord?" just for a good cockblock, and save the Milano from a symphony of disgusting sounds for Quill's room.

But I just turn around and let a sigh escapes my lips. "Gettin' a migraine, Groot."

Groot says to me, "I am Groot." I am sorry for you being caught up in this situation, Rocket. The tree goes to rise from his spot wearily, looking back at his tray of drinks that the tender has just placed down. "I am Groot?" Do you want me to carry you back to the ship like I had yesterday?  
>Typical Groot. Good guy he is for carryin' my ass back to the ship while I could hardly move a muscle. Carryin' me when I was all stiff was probably like carryin' a solid, wooden board that ya can't bend or hold comfortably. In other words, it's a pain in the ass.<p>

I shake my head, "Nah, bud. Sit. Don't wanna take the fun outta drinkin' for ya."

Groot seems more than happy to take his seat again as he takes up a tiny glass in each of his hands. "I am Groot." It is impossible for me to become intoxicated, Rocket, as you know. I simply enjoy the taste. And with that, Groot downs a couple more shots. Good excuse to drink, I'd say. I don't understand the biology behind how Groot can drink so much and have his brain be unaffected, but it's a thing.

I snicker and smirk at my excuse for a best friend's actions. "You're somethin' else, stumpy." I elbow him in the side.

Groot's only response is a throaty chuckle against the lip of yet another shot glass.

"Keep yourself entertained, buddy," I say with a slap to Groot's shoulder before I scoot off of the chair as cautiously as possible. But even with my nimble movements, I end up wincin' pretty damn badly at the pain that shoots through my legs. "If they ask ya, I went back to the ship. Tell 'em I'm hurtin' 'r whatever," are my last words to Groot before I take a few steps that are just a preview of the painful this journey's gonna be. Even with the slight swagger of my head as I step pain comes, especially near the front of my skull, and it's so d'ast bad I could just fuckin' cry.

I look over to the table where Drax and Gamora sit, considering maybe I should let them know I'm leaving and callin' it a night. Plus the last time I forgot to mention I was seriously hurt they were all kinda ticked at me. But then I see Quill boundin' on over there drunkenly, his partner from the dance floor seemingly gone. He's got a talent for losin' people real quickly-

… I can't tell if that was a bad joke or somethin' else. But, uh, yeah. He's good at pushin' people away's what I meant.

I don't know what he's gonna do to my two friends at the table, who are just minding their own business, and I honestly do not feel like stickin' around for the ensuing disaster. So I leave after giving one last glance to a certain tree who needs to /slow the fuck down with the shots./ Seriously, Groot. Sheesh.

Every step back to the Milano's like steppin' on pins. It's also like pins are bein' stabbed into every inch of my body everywhere else, even my arms that wave at my sides as I trudge onward miserably. I hiss at every step, trying not to put too much weight on either of my legs.

But that doesn't really work out. Shift it one way, that one hurts. Shift it back, that one hurts. Wish I could fly. Heh, that's what my namesake does. It'd be a damn cool thing to do, too. If anything, They forgot that one teensy detail…

I don't wanna talk about that. Jokin' about it isn't funny just like talkin' about it ain't a conversation to have over dinner.

When I go to enter the hatch on the side, I place my hand up against this newly-installed print recognition panel installed at my advice. Comin' back from restockin' the ship with shit we needed and findin' some homeless dude in there wasn't exactly thrilling. How he got in there, we'll never know.

The door hesitates for a moment before it slides open with a spiraling motion. For a sec there I thought I was gonna be locked out. No knew system's without its kinks, I know that much. And the thing's jammed up on Quill once already.

But that's coz he's Quill. Guess even the ship's gotta tease 'im now 'n' then.

Hot lava on my heels stop me from laughin' at that. "Ooooh, shit," I say as I huff a hot breath out of my mouth while I trudge into the Milano grudgingly. I hear the sound of somethin' high-pitched, and I think it's that shitty tape deck of Quill's startin' up again.

Oh. Wait. That's just the ringin' in my ears from my good ol' pal named 'Migraine from Hell.'

"Shuddup," I say to the sound as I begin the trek to my room. "Ow. Ow. Ow." Seriously, I know it sounds like I'm exageratin' times a million. But I'm really frickin' hurtin' everywhere. Cybernetic skeletons suck when they're exposed to magnetic pulses. They're great for everything else, and that includes puttin' yourself through the worst pains in the galaxy.

I wonder if Gamora's havin' similar issues for only a moment before I enter my quarters and immediately begin to remove my orange flightsuit. I really should just lay down, rest my head, make sure my body's not about to break into a gazillion pieces. But I gotta change into something a little less 'tight and fittin' for goin' out' and a little more 'sleep comfortably and not give a shit.' I pull on some loose drawstring pants a little too long for my legs and that's it. I swear, the amount of times I've tripped over my feet coz of these things bein' so damn long is ridiculous. But I wear 'em coz Groot saw 'em out somewhere with Quill and insisted I'd like 'em coz of the design.

There is no design. They're plain black.

So of course I like 'em. A design'd be tacky as hell. Plus normal clothes my size are a little hard to come by. I got an extensive wardrobe, I guess. But I can always use more clothes.

"Gah, fuck," I massage my skull with the tips of my fingers as I shuffle over to my bed with another wave of pain shootin' through my face. "I know Gamora has problems like this… I just know-"

And then a bulb 'dings' to life in my head. It's a miracle I actually hear it over the ringing.

Gamora. She's the answer.

Well, actually… it's not /her/, but it's in her room.

Gamora's bound to have some sort of remedy in her room because she's kinda sorta the med when we need her. Unless it's simple things like wrappin' up a cut with a bandage or gettin' a splinter out (tends to happen to me a lot since I use Groot for height advantages), Gamora's the one to go to. That was a skill I'd never thought she'd known, and I never thought it could be so handy. Burns are the most common things we're victim to for whatever reason, but she has sewn up wounds of mine a couple'a times now. Some of 'em were even reopened from way back when… y'know, /way back when./

It's probably a better idea for me to go and find some regular aspirin or whatever, but I think there's gotta be some kinda stronger antidote in the med-bag. I make a silent prayer to some sorta god that Gamora's door is unlocked.

So with more painful steps, I head toward Gamora's room with my pants covering all of my feet 'sides my toes. I nearly trip when I step on the back'a my heel, but I manage to stop myself from hurtin' myself any further by grabbin' the nearest wall.

"Please, just frickin'-"

The door to Gamora's room, surprisingly, is not locked shut when I press the button to slide the metal structure open.

I don't even gaze around at the cleanliness of the room like I usually do when I come in here once every cycle. But for the note, it's neat and very precise, especially when compared to my room. My place's got shit scattered everywhere-clothes in a pile, schematics on the floor, some bombs in the corner. I'm not exactly one to clean up after myself. I get lazy.

What was-oh, yeah, the bag.

I move quickly despite the pain in my body and look underneath of the bed. For a first place to look, I'm suprisingly in luck. There it is, a little far under behind a couple'a items I don't care enough to examine. Of course. Obstacles.

I roll my eyes, mutter "Really?" and get on my stomach. It's a strain to pull myself up and under the bed, my arms screaming in protest at the idea of me pullin' my weight like this. Luckily, all it takes is my upper body to be pulled under the bed for me to reach the bag. I consider just pulling my legs and tail under as well, but bein' stretched out like this on the floor's kinda comfortable. Plus the pain that I've already mentioned nine hundred sixty five times.

I unzip the bag and am surprised that nothing busts out and hits me on the nose. Seriously, this thing is crammed full'a sewing needles, cotton balls, all that good shit that I don't like lookin' at. Even a pair of surgical scissors? I knew ship med-kits were supposed to have basic necessities, but I never thought it'd have full blown surgical tools.

Or maybe these weren't here to begin with.

"I just need some pills, man," I grumble.

Instead of rummaging through and keepin' everything in the bag, I just start to pull shit out, examine it right quick, and toss it from under the bed and across the floor of her room. If it ain't a bottle'a pills, it ain't worth carin' for. Plus I got the full intention'a cleanin' up my mess just to cover my ass.

Which is kinda ironic. Coz this doesn't work out that way, like, at all. My ass was definitely not covered. But we ain't there yet.

Roll of gauze? Yeah, that's definitely on a /roll/ when I push it like a wheel across the floor and toward the door.

...That was a bad joke.

Those scissors? Bye.

Book about basic viruses and how to cure 'em. See ya later.

A slim, plastic encasing holding many sewing needles? Nope.

Blood packs? Those come in handy, but no.

Syringe? I don't throw it coz it's made of glass. But I hate havin' it in my hand, so I drop it to the floor a little too hard.

Another roll of gauze. Goodbye.

A bottle of pills but they're for sleeping. Nope. I'm tired enough as it is.

About fifteen other useless medical objects later, I reach in and pull out something that makes a rattling noise that's music to my ears. I almost screw the cap off and just dump the pills down my throat without another thought. But I need to be sure this is what I need. Don't wanna be high as a frickin' prowl cruiser coz I took the wrong pills.

"Fast-acting Beta brand acetaminophen gel tablets," I read. That big 'A' word's one I know. Pain reliever! Thanks God. "Made with natural Iso-8 minerals that relieve pain, increase immune system activity, and-blah, blah, blah. Rest don't matter." I untwist the cap as fast as possible and pour a handful of the turquoise gels into my hands. Two's probably good. I usually take two just for minor headaches. I consider getting water, but decide on just swallowing them without anything to drink.

They go down smoothly, probably due to their slick, somewhat slimy texture once they make contact with my tongue. After I swallow, I give a heavy sigh and fold my arms under my pounding skull with the pill bottle still tightly clutched in one hand. Perfect.

So I just sit like this and rest my head for a few minutes. And lemme tell ya, those things sure as hell are fast acting. I knew Iso-8 was a good resource for medical needs and the like, but /damn/. Didn't know this shit went to work instantly. I mean, this shit was like the crap they put in IV tubes and stick into your arms. The pain just disappears from my skull, and the numbing sensation's startin' to kick in on my body, too.

"'Mora's gon' kill me if she walks in soon," I mumble to no one in particular as I nuzzle (yeah, I nuzzled it) the pill bottle up against my face. "Prob'bly shoul' clea' up all my mess I ma'e." The widest, most tired yawn in the entire galaxy comes from out of my mouth. Why'm I gettin' so tired? I'm exhausted, yeah, but I'm fallin' asleep with my ass and tail stickin' out from under Gamora's bed.

But my life isn't a hundred percent normal. So of course I end up dozin' off. I don't exactly mean to fall asleep under Gamora's bed. It just kinda happens. I'm comfortable, stretched out, wearin' nice clothes and my headache's startin' to fade. Sure, my legs and tail are just stickin' out for all the Milano to see, but I don't care. I'm startin' to relax and just feelin' plain good. The achin' in every inch of my body's still there, but there's somethin' helpin' me relax instead of focusing on that.

It probably would'a helped for me to read the rest of the front of the label. Coz the full sentence is "Made with natural Iso-8 minerals that relieve pain, increase immune system activity and promote a healthy sleep."

But I didn't learn that last bit 'til later on.

_**somelittlemonster: Posted from mobile. Lemme know of any formatting issues. Gonna put the Groot translations into italics when I get on a functioning computer. For whatever reason, I can't get on AO3 on it...**_

_**And there ya have it. My first half of this in which Rocket is passed out with just his lower half stickin' out from under Gamora's bed, medical tools and such everywhere, and a bottle of pills just clutched in his hand.**_

_**I didn't emphasize those too much, but I imagine they're like morphine in gel-tablet form. Probably not meant for a creature of Rocket's size but I doubt they're of any higher danger. He's just out for the time being.**_

_**I figured this would be a good starter. It came naturally and all that jazz. The other ones I tried felt really forced and started to frustrate me. This one just flowed out like it was nothing.**_

_**Comments are appreciated. And I really can't wait to see what divisionten can follow this up with. I left her a drunk Quill and a sleepin' raccoon to deal with.**_


	2. Followed by a night in bed

_**divisionten: Osu! My turn! I'm division ten, a 28 year old statistician from Philadelphia, and a Rocket Raccoon cosplayer for charity events. Working on a Baymax suit right now too- with the tummy touchscreen and all!**_

_**Gosh, do I LOVE LOVE LOVE somelittlemonster's chapter. I'm not sure I can live up to his work, but here goes Gamora's side. Enjoy your cliffhanger, SLM, hehehehee...**_

_**Sorry, I don't have more notes for you. I don't typically write long author's notes… oh! Go read somelittlemonster's work on Archive of our Own. He's friggin' amazing with Rocket, as you've seen. He writes Peter really well too!**_

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><p>"And that's when Kamaria looked at the theme-park worker in the eye and yelled, 'I'm tattle-telling your mother on you, you big meanie!'," Drax said, heartily.<p>

I wish I could have done more than curl my lips up in a smile; Drax's telling of his daughter standing up to a costumed theme-park attendant back on his own planet was indeed quite entertaining.

But the pounding between my ears was becoming unbearable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rocket, eyes down and ears pressed against his skull in disgust, leaving his first and only round of shots untouched on the bar. Drax was, in Quill's words, the "den mother" of our little band of misfits, but even he became too loose from drink. Of course I kept a watchful eye on Rocket, Peter, and he when we went to celebrate. Based on how many drinks the three had consumed, Peter was currently toeing a 0.06 BAC, possibly 0.07 depending on his weight at the moment, Drax a 0.04 (he'd been talking too much to truly partake in the stein of ale before him, and had been eating with his libation), and Rocket a surprisingly solid 0.00. Groot had already put fifteen shots in his system, but his body simply turned alcohol to sugar, so he was no worse than if he'd consumed some candy. Normally, I wouldn't waste my energy trying to keep track of what he had imbibed, but it was no extra effort since I spent most of the night keeping an eye on the one member of the team who could gain 0.03 BAC from just one shot.

My quiet request to the bartender to thin Rocket's drinks had been in vain, but no matter. Groot would happily down them all.

After seeing Rocket rub his temples and slide off his bar stool with an eye to the door, I patted Drax's hand and make eye contact with Groot, turning his 20th empty shot glass in his massive wooden palm.

"I am going to tail Rocket," I said to Drax quietly. "He may not have recovered fully from the pulse grenade from last night (_shudder_), and he does not look well." Nor did I, for that matter, but Drax, Peter, and Groot seemed to be in high spirits; I had no deigns to kill their celebrations.

"I would offer to assis-" Drax started, then noticed my eyes narrow.

"If Groot is not chasing him, it is not so severe," I cut in. "But if his cybernetics are still shorting out on him, I'm the only one who could offer assistance. Stay and enjoy. I will signal if there is something that requires us all."

Drax nodded, but before I could stand from my seat, Peter wobbled over, umbrella-topped drink in hand, sans one Krylonian I spied him becoming quite intimate with on the dance floor. I spied Rocket attempt to stop at our table, before shaking his head lightly and heading directly for the exit, but Peter made a perfect excuse to linger an extra moment so Rocket would not feel as if I were attempting to spy.

Which I was, of course, but I also needed to evict myself from the club before my own ears began to bleed. Under a normal circumstance the music would have been a slight annoyance, albeit a bit too loud for my tastes, but much like Rocket, my augmentations made _everything_ a bit too loud for my tastes. At least his has a volume slider, which Groot knows how to activate and uses to his advantage (or just plain enjoyment) on more than one occasion; Groot is a literal physical pure heart, but he can still be a prankster and lewd.

No-one on the ship knows if it is due to Rocket's influence or if Rocket joined up with him because of it, but the tired expression on Groot's face once Rocket is out of the establishment tells me all I need to know. I spin out of my seat at the booth and push Quill into it. Quill and Drax will probably play a few bar games under Groot's wary eye, get tired, and meet us back on the ship in a few hours. I scratch two fingers on the back of my hand as I pull my cloak over my shoulder. Groot nods.

He's responsible for the two idiots now.

* * *

><p>By the time I reach the ship, my head feels as though it is splitting open, or worse, actually, as most of the times that happened I was at least given local anesthesia. I quickly go to check on Rocket; I can see the light on in his bunk and the door of his cabin open. His jumpsuit and armaments are strewn on the floor, but he is neither in his bunk (rarely used anyway) nor the frayed canvas hammock (more often used, although in or on Groot is his most common sleeping arrangement).<p>

Possibly the bathroom?

I passed by my own quarters, and noticed the light on and door open as well.

And that is when I heard it. Purring. Loud, nasal purring.

When Rocket is clothed, walking upright, covered in grease stains and cursing up a storm, I could almost forget he came into this world an unintelligent little beast. But here he was, on my floor, his hindquarters bare and exposed sticking out from under my bed like a pet who believes if they cannot see you that they are unseen. Bare, as his sleeping pants had slid down to his ankles, bunched up around his tiny feet. They must have slid when he went searching under my bunk for… ah. Something in my medical kit, by the looks of strewn supplies on the floor.

I hope the idiot had the sense to take the children's dosage of whatever he swallowed, but doe to the… creative… state of my bunk, unlikely.

I reached my arms as far as they could go, and slowly pulled him out. The purring grew louder (or was it just easier to discern?) and his arms were pulled into his chest, cradling and nuzzling against the very pill bottle I wanted for myself to make the pin stop. As I lifted him up into my arms, his drawstring pants- probably a children's size, but never tell him so- fell away and he curled up instinctually into a ball in my arms.

Now I had to figure out a way to tease the bottle out of his grasp and clothe him, preferably sooner so I could clean the discarded medical supplies off my own floor, deposit him in his own hammock, and roll myself into bed for the night before he actually embarrassed himself in front of Drax or Quill.

Sure, there would be a talking to at some future date about responsible self medication, but if Rocket had been feeling even half as bad as I, I could not fault him too much. I packed the medical bag, back up at least; I did not need to step on the medical scissors or needles. Boxed or no; the inexpensive plastic would crush under the weight of my foot and I did not wish to have any more metal inside of me than I already possessed.

Now, to turn my attention to Rocket and the pills. Getting them out of his paws was more important than clothing him, as I could always deposit him back in his room in the nude and he could dress himself come morning. It was not as though he had any shame to hide; his reproductive organs sat tucked inside a fold of fur-covered skin, and the cybernetics on his back, once bare and visible, were hidden under a fresh coat of thick fur now that he was actually ingesting an appropriate diet for his species. His fur was certainly cleaner looking and with a better sheen than when we had first met so many cycles ago, no longer was it patchy and thinning.

He'd curled himself tighter on the mattress, tail-over-snout. With his winter coat and the soft hum of purring escaping his throat, I could almost be excused for seeing him as an absolutely adorable small mammal.

His eyes fluttered. He was already hitting REM.

Hopefully his dream was a good one.

I watched him carefully, as he suddenly stretched out in his sleep. Seizing my chance, I grabbed the pill bottle.

Only to have Rocket grab ahold of my right forearm and pull it in close in the bottle's place, purring becoming the sound of a gas-based groundcar engine.

I lifted my arm from the bed, and Rocket simply clung tighter, snout now pointed to the floor with my arm down at my side. I shook my arm gently over the bed, but the only response was for Rocket to wrap his hindlegs around my bicep.

Peter had pulled me aside once it became clear that I was the most competent on the ship in relation to medical care, showing me translated documents of Rocket's wild species. I never brought it up to Rocket, but I did notice that an unauthorized anonymous user had viewed said documents off my data pad.

Of **_course_** Rocket's species would be unfazed by sleeping upside down, clinging to a limb. Raccoons were tree climbers.

* * *

><p>In the end, I opted on simply opening the pill bottle with my left hand, carefully swallowing the appropriate dosage, shutting the light in Rocket's quarters, locking my own bedroom door from the inside with a bio-lock (if Rocket did awaken, he could still exit from the attached head and bathing stall, but it would give him pause to take stock that he was still naked before running out into the hallway- I hoped), and rolling into bed.<p>

All the while with a naked, purring Rocket clinging to my arm.

If it were Quill, I would probably have doused him with cold water, kicked him swiftly out of the bunk (quite literally), thrown his strewn pants in his face, and slammed the sliding door behind him. I would have made him a decent breakfast the following morning, and a massage on his temples were he still in pain, but certainly not regret the actions of the night before.

If it were Drax, I would have walked him carefully back into his bunk, and left as quietly as I could.

If it were Groot, I would have scratched his bark gently and fill him a canteen of water. Groot was too massive for me to lift; would he have been unable to move I would have been fine with him borrowing the floor for a night. That, and finding him naked somewhere on the ship was not only normal, but the alternative would be something to leave me pause.

So why was Rocket, who was as close to Quill as one could get in a meter-long furry form (so long as he was standing upright on his hindlegs, and on a good day), eliciting such a different response in me? I rolled onto my side, sleeping in my clothes, as Rocket pulled in tighter under the covers and let the medicine drift me off to sleep.

* * *

><p>I awoke to a wet nose rubbing furiously on my exposed clavicle.<p>

"Mora? 'Mora?!"

"Mph… go back to rest…" I said, sleepily.

"Yer… yer pinnin' me down," he squeaked out, his fear of restraints causing the weakened tone to his voice.

I jolted to consciousness, and felt not Rocket gripping me, but me holding Rocket down to my chest with my arms hugging him. Like a child sleeping with a plush toy.

I released immediately and pushed backwards to give him some needed space, watching his fur puff up by the emergency floor lights. Now free, he darted to the foot of the mattress and fluffed himself, before noticing the claw marks gracing my arm and his pants still strewn on the floor.

"Did we… did I… da'ast!" he sputtered out. "Was I at least good for ya? I don' remember anything…"

"Rocket…" I started, then realized immediately that the downward tic in my response could be construed for a soft 'well…'.

"I wasn't, was I? I was terrible," he said, covering his face with his paw. "An' I can't even remember it!" He jumped out of the bed, snatched the pants off the floor and hopped into them while running for the door.

I noticed the drawstring hanging out the backside just as he slammed into the bulkhead.

"The FRACK. Can't even do this right," he said, kicking the door as his pants slid down to his ankles. I rolled off the bed and scooped him up in my arms, again completely naked. Maybe it was that he was covered in fur with no visible 'parts' showing like Groot that made me so nonplussed, or maybe it was just living with these absolutely brilliant **_incompetent idiots_** that I'd just gotten used to everyone's quirks and hangups. Rocket ground his teeth, but buried his face in my chest, mumbling, "'m sorry, 'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Rocket, and you know I do not mince my words like a certain headphone-wearing airhead," I replied, putting my foot under the discarded garment and kicking it up to eye level without breaking my hold on Rocket. "First, you need to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

I heard a few light hitches, and then a steady breathing rhythm followed. His heart rate slowed to baseline.

I squeezed him a little tighter, enough to know he was being cared for but not enough to kick in his fight-or-flight response. After Drax on Xandar, Rocket had slowly opened up to the idea of 'physical contact with the hairless fleshbodies'- his terminology, not ours. A pat on the head or a 'high five' (slapping hands together, palms upright, some form of Terran acknowledgement of a job well done) over the past few months slowly became hitching a ride on our shoulders or willingly being picked up. He was now at the point where he would occasionally ask Drax for a massage when he'd pulled a muscle, or sit at Peter's side after a bad day, or ask me to brush out the fur on his back when Groot was away for more than 20 hours on a mission he didn't participate in. He still wouldn't **_admit_** he wanted and needed physical affection, because, Gods forbid he'd admit to needing anything other than explosive cartridges or fertilizer (which, as I discovered, could _also_ double as bomb making agents), but, unlike the wild ancestors of the Zen Whoberi, which were mostly isolated primates, raccoons seemed to nest in groups, and crave physical comfort. Like Peter's species, Rocket's were social animals.

And in the sixteen-something years Rocket had already lived, the only warm contact he'd had was a hand with a scalpel. Even I did not have it so rough.

I gently deposited Rocket back on the mattress, placing a finger on the edge of his snout.

"Have you calmed down now?" I asked, handing him his sleeping clothes, drawstring side up. I noticed the hole cut for his tail was little more than a simple X shape, not even hemmed shut. "And you know, I can stitch up more than just our bodies," I added, noting a slight twitch of disgust in his tail, quickly causing me to continue. "If you need me to hem your clothing all you have to do is ask. I don't have the materials or practice with leatherwork, but if you bring me linens or animal hair fabrics I can even make you some properly tailored garments of your own."

"I… didn't fuck up?" he finally sputtered, holding the pants out before hopping into them and pushing his tail through the hole in the rear.

"The only thing you failed to do was read the pill bottle properly, Rocket. I don't know how many you ingested, but for your **_weight_** you should have only taken one." I said nothing of a children's dose. I was once an assassin; I know what battles are not worth fighting. "You were splayed on my floor, just shy of naked, and snoring when I returned to my quarters last- or this?- evening. I tried to dress you, but when I lifted you out, you clung to me as you do Groot while you sleep. I could not pry you off without fear of disturbing your slumber. If you were even in half as much pain as I," I added, trying to emphasize that he had been a bit of an idiot but not selfish, "I had thought, I should medicate myself and just go to bed as-is. I apologize for startling you upon wake. I did not realize you would loosen your grip and I would take hold of you."

I sat next to him, and tentatively reached out a hand as a peace offering.

"That's all that happened?" He took a finger in his own tiny palm and squeezed it briefly.

"That's all." I smiled warmly at him, and his own muzzle contorted into his approximation of a grin, ears finally perking up for the first time since the explosion over twenty-four hours ago.

"How… how ya feelin'?" he asked, after a moment of silence, his head turned away in embarrassment. Why was he embarrassed so? "I didn't scratch ya too bad, did I? Maybe I should clip my nails…"

"And loose your advantage in battle?" I replied. "That would be as asking Peter to not clean or realign his guns. Or Drax or myself not to sharpen our blades. I heal quickly. Your nails may not grow back fast enough when needed. How is your pain? My own migraine seems to have stabilized at present, but I did see you at the bar last night. You looked far worse than I."

"I think now I'm jus' kinda hungry," he replied, and, while there was a bit of trepidation in his tone, it certainly wasn't from being in pain. "What time is it, anyway?" he asked.

"Ten-thirty local," I replied. "And I do not hear more than snoring throughout the ship. Drax and Peter are likely both still sleeping off their drunkenness. Shall we make some breakfast?"

"I could do breakfast. I'll meet you in the galley. I should put on a shirt so I don't shed in the food." Rocket shook himself off and I stood up, unlocking the door.

"Frybread or affers?" I knew, after Peter had made the strangely shaped cakes doused in sugar, frothed cream, and fruit, that Rocket would probably eat one every meal and get as pudgy as his wild compatriots back on Terra, but I figured he and I could both use a treat after the previous events.

"**_Waffles_**, Gamora," Rocket snidely corrected. Of course he'd know the proper pronunciation. "And d'ya even need to ask?"

* * *

><p>I stirred the panful of hot green salad, while Rocket stood on the stool to my right, cracking two giant poli eggs into two separate pans. One for Drax, over-easy, and one scrambled with cheese for everyone else to share. A squeeze bottle full of thick batter sat next to Rocket's home-made waffle iron, waiting for the timer to alert us to put in the next serving of dough. Peter was up to the galley first, almost dragged along from the scent of the steamed milk mixed with flavored caffeine powder that was sitting in the carafe on a hot plate just out of Rocket's reach to his right.<p>

"Zombie…. needs… coffee…" he mumbled, fishing for a mug overhead and pouring himself a glass near overflowing.

"Zombie could **_set table_**," Rocket snapped lightly, hitting Peter with the butt of the spatula as he passed.

"I am Groot," Groot bellowed, walking up the deck stairs behind Drax.

"I **_was_** on the ship, numbnuts," Rocket snapped. Rocket had gotten better at framing his responses to Groot in such a way that the three of us who couldn't understand him at least had a general idea of his half of the conversation.

"**_I_** am Groot."

Rocket stirred furiously in the pan with the scrambled egg.

Peter looked up warily with an eye on the two of us. "Look, I don't want to pry, because then I know you'll come walking in on me when I'm thigh-deep in a Silurian. But at least put a note on your door or something. Groot went in though the bathroom to make sure you were okay." Rocket's hair stood on edge, but kept his mouth quiet. "Next time you get nightmares…"

I glanced at Rocket and winked. He returned it with a look of confusion as his furious spatula scraping returned to something that could actually be defined as cooking and not aggressive pan scouring. He felt better knowing that the rest of the team did not assume Rocket and I shared quarters due to what Peter euphemized as "evening activities".

I rarely play pranks on the ship; Groot and Rocket are the worst offenders, mostly to each other. However, I am not above a bit of childish fun, especially if it can be done without harming anyone.

"Oh, neither one of us had nightmares, Quill," I replied, dripping with satisfaction in my voice. I wanted to see his and Groot's reactions to this. "But I will make sure to leave you all a highly **_detailed_** note the next time Rocket and I choose to share a bunk for the night. I am sure **_some_** of you heard the thumping about an hour ago, did you not?" Of course, said thumping was merely Rocket ramming into the bulkhead, but it certainly added to the perceived reality of the situation.

Rocket snickered lightly at the true meaning of the comment, but it seemed to also sell my fib.

Groot had both his hands to his mouth, gasping, while Peter?

**_Peter spat steaming hot liquid across the table, choking loudly._**

The waffle iron _dinged_.

"So," Rocket smirked. "Who wants first dibs?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>So yeah, Gamora's a wonderful asshole here. Good luck dealing with the aftermath of this, some littlemonster! I want to hear how Rocket feels about all of this. :)<em>**


	3. Then the first move

_**somelittlemonster: Ohhhh, yeah. Chapter 3.**_

_**Maybe it's a good idea for me to do a lil' thing like divisionten had on the last chapter. I'm somelittlemonster, eighteen-year old loser who can't get a job even though I apply pretty much everywhere. Also a massive Fall Out Boy fan and a walking encyclopedia of Rocket knowledge.**_

_**Speakin' of the struggle bein' real, I struggled with ending this one properly. I tried incorporating Groot into it more, but I didn't even get the blasted idiot in it besides the first section.**_

_**I think this cliffhanger I left for divisionten's a little on the bold side, but I figured it was bound to happen sooner or later. Plus it can go either way... Rocket's just a nervous mess sometimes.**_

_**Enjoy, losers!**_

* * *

><p>"So," I turn on my heel and look to the table, "who wants first dibs?"<p>

Havin' an award-winning grin on my face as I turn to my companions after the offer of first dibs doesn't change the expressions on their faces in the slightest. Usually Peter's hand shoots up, although I always end up skippin' him just coz I'm an ass. Groot will follow, and then Drax and Gamora will follow after waiting for these other losers to get their shit. But no one does any of this.

Gamora's gone and done somethin' great this time. And the looks on their faces are just so hard not to laugh at.

Groot's still got his hands to his mouth, eyes wide, lookin' like he's heard the dirtiest thing ever. But the dude's said worse (much worse), so he can get over it.

The poor coffee that Quill spat all over the table is a sticky mess that's drying really quickly. He holds a hand under his chin as some of the hot liquid dribbles down his chin as he continues to choke on the bean water loudly, trying to protect the table from bein' victim to any more of the liquid that is streaming down his chin.

Drax's posture is mostly unchanged, but he's starin' at me 'n' Gamora with his eyes a little wider than usual.

No one responds to my offer.

"I said who wants first dibs?" I offer again. "Groot?"  
>"I-I-I am…?" I can't make out what Groot's sayin'. Just stutterin', really, but there is/ somethin' in Groot's words that I can just barely make out. How-H-H-How did…?

"Take that as a no," I say nonchalantly before I point the egg covered spatula at Quill. "What about you, Star-Queen?" I ask with a grin.

Peter just keeps his mouth hangin' open for a thousand bugs to enter while he gives me a look as he continues to choke wildly. Groot, in a panic, smacks the Terran's back with force, and Quill begins to regain his composure.

"Zombies can't talk. Right," I say. "Drax?" This time when I point with my metal appendage, a tiny bit of yellow flicks off and splats to the floor.

"I would like my eggs, yes. But what else have you two created for us?" Drax says, not a hint'a surprise at Gamora's statement in his tone. Well, can't say I'm too surprised at Drax's reaction myself.

"Waffles," Gamora says from over her shoulder herself before I can. "And I am still in the midst of this salad. It will be finished soon."

Finally, Peter can breathe normally again (dammit, Groot) and is managing to finally speak. "Groot, thanks." He raises his coffee mug back to his mouth slowly, his hand shaky from his choking fit. "You-You two? You both-"

"Yep," I confirm with a nod as I begin to set Drax's plate, prodding Gamora's elbow with the end of the spatula lightly. I give her a similar wink as the one she'd given me earlier. She started a spark, so I better keep the flame blazin' as strong as ever. She understands the implication and continues to stir with her gaze intently beaming the greenery in the pan. "Ever heard'a intraspecies stuff?" I ask casually from over my shoulder as I pour more of the sweet batter into the waffle iron.

This gets the expected responses. I hear Groot's body creak as he puts his hands over his mouth again and Peter nearly chokes again by the sound of how he swallows with an 'mmph' noise.

"Come and get your food, Drax!" I say with a coy smile, my eyes flicking over to Gamora. And even though she doesn't look back at me, the grin on her face is enough to show she's just as entertained as I am.

* * *

><p>Aaaaand then the mood I'm in takes a turn once I get to sittin' alone in my quarters.<p>

"Maybe I'm just overthinkin' it. C'mon, idiot. C'mon."

Breakfast was fantastic. Waffles, Gamora makin' a snarky, dirty comment, Quill chokin' on coffee. Perfect start to a day that should stay on that perfect bandwagon.

But it falls off and smacks itself off'a couple hundred rocks a little after everyone has finished their food. Whenever Gamora and I finish cleanin' up our mess of egg-covered pans and waffle batter dripped everywhere, I head to my room to dress myself for the day. I pulled on the blue flightsuit Prime had made for a new set'a clothes 'til later on. And once I'm fit into the snug flightsuit, I really take in all of this morning's events on my own as I sit on the edge of my bunk, gazin' at my feet.

"Why'd I let last night even happen like that?" I rub my eyes furiously with the heels of my hands, tryin' to shake the idea of me in Gamora's bed, naked. I don't care about walkin' around without a shirt on coz it's no secret that I've got a history. Look at my back and ya can put it together. No one on the Milano judges coz we all got our problems. None of us are alright. But there's no way in hell that I'd be caught dead naked with anyone, even with Groot. So why didn't she freak the fuck out? I mean, I'm naked on top of ya!

"I'm such a shithead."

Not gonna lie, wakin' up in Gamora's room wasn't the weirdest thing in the entire galaxy that I've experienced. It definitely ranks somewhere on that list, but it's nowhere near the weirdness I've faced. Wakin' up to her warmth, to her scent wasn't bad at all.

The bad thing was my state during those first moments when I stirred awake with her pinnin' me down into her chest. I know we didn't do the nasty, the doodly-doo, the frick-frack, the big one, but there's still somethin' wrong about it to me. When I first woke up and thought we had done it, the first thought in my mind was, "She did it with me and she really doesn't deserve that." I mean, let's be honest for a sec. I think I'm a great guy, got a good sense'a humor (apparently prosthetics aren't funny to others, though?), smart as they come, and I like guns.

But I somehow feel like if ya sleep with someone of my kind, ya probably got really low standards. Nobody willingly touches me unless their name is Groot, Quill, Gamora, or Drax. And that's only because they know me. All sorts'a people will be 90/10 with this sorta thing. Those in the smaller ratio? They willingly reach out and try to grab at my tail, feel my fur, all that cutesy shit that I hate.

The others? They're scared.

"It's not normal, it's on its hind legs."

"It's gonna bite us."  
>"That is the strangest thing I've ever seen."<p>

Well, this doesn't happen so much anymore. Gamora's well known across the galaxy, so any of us losers just bein' in her presence dignifies our status as better than everyone just because the Most Dangerous Woman in the Universe is at our side. Plus she'll slit their throat. I think.

I still feel bad even for scratchin' her up. Maybe I should clip my nails even though it'd be a disadvantage when I'm bein' choked to death by some Kree bastard or when… nah, I'm not gonna. Gamora said not to.

Gamora didn't say much about her arms, just that she'd heal quickly. She set my furry ass down, talked me through my miniature panic attack and acted like wakin' up with some naked… thing on top'a her body wasn't anything outta the ordinary. Then again, she's done shit faaaaar crazier than I have, and my life, like I've already said, ain't exactly the most normal one in all the universe. Her life's excitement level probably spirals upward at a mulpilication of five.

And when she frickin' offered me her hand, basically sayin' "Hey, relax, loser. You aren't as big an idiot like ya think", it felt nice. Like everything was okay, like I wasn't some stupid thing to get ticked off at for goin' through her shit, trashin' her room, and clingin' to her like she's a god damn tree.

So for her to just ignore that fact and just... y'know, keep me calm is… weird for me.

So of course I accepted the sort of peace offering, takin' one'a her fingers in my hand.

And I… I kinda liked that. I mean, I liked the way she acted about it. No malice, no anger. Hell, I'd expect even Groot to get pissy with me if I got naked and just gripped onto him like no tomorrow while he was tryin' to go about his nightly routine. But Gamora was just real kind about it, and for her to joke about us… "thumpin'" was funny. She brushed it off, didn't hold it over my head for blackmail later on.

Maybe that's just because she was feelin' the same way. She said somethin' about her own migraine subsidin' earlier before I stuffed myself with five frickin' waffles and a ton of frothy cream. Think there's still some on my whiskers, too…

I sigh outta my nose while I think of her and the way she'd acted toward me before I come to a conclusion.

"I owe her big time. I really, really do."

* * *

><p>By the time we've shot off'a the planet's surface and we're all lookin' like normal citizens instead of zombies dressed in pajamas, it's been a good long while. If I had to pinpoint a time on the planet, it's at least five or six in the afternoon when we leave. Had to refuel before goin' off to wherever our next payin' job takes us, and restockin' now seemed like a better idea than needin' to restock when we don't got money from a good payin' job. Gotta be responsible before we go and blow the rest'a our pay on some shit we don't need.<p>

Everyone's off doin' their own sort of thing as we drift through space. I know Quill's on the upper deck piloting us toward wherever he plans on takin' us next. Drax is floatin' about the ship like… what does Quill say? He once called Drax a "duck that lost its mom" when the brute was just walkin' around aimlessly. I don't know what a duck is. How(ard) would I? It's some sorta winged species from Earth, based off'a what Quill tells me, and the chances of me encountering one are one in three trillion. But I could care less.

I'm on the floor of my cabin with the most wonderful lady in my life splayed out in front'a me. Yep, that's right; my signature cannon I carry everywhere. Tryin' to keep my mind off of the events of the morning with Gamora is turnin' out to be a bit easier the more I focus on the gun. And an added plus is that I've got a bag of salty nuts I picked up on one of our stops to restock at Drax's recommendation. Pretty damn good, too. We may have just ate a couple'a hours ago, but I'm mostly eatin' 'em just to have somethin' to chew on.

I left the door to my cabin open in hopes that Groot would lumber (ha-tree jokes) on in and hang out. But I'm assumin' he's on the upper deck with Quill coz I can hear that blasted Jackson Five song playin' lightly.

But whatever. I got stuff to do and I'd rather not have Groot distractin' me with a bunch'a questions I already don't wanna answer. I'm already distracted enough.

For pretty much the whole of two hours, I thought of all the ways I could possibly pay Gamora back for not makin' a fiasco over our situation earlier this morning. I could always make her some sorta jewelry. I know how to work metal to a degree. The only issue is findin' the necessary materials for that. Silver or gold ain't easy to come by, especially when ya don't get a set job that is always guaranteed to pay well.

I think about buyin' her somethin', but what? We've all been together for a good long while now, and I'm pretty sure I got a general understanding of what everyone's general hobbies and interests are. But of course when it comes to actually thinkin' about it, nothin' besides knives and swords come to mind when I think of the assassin. And while I'm sure she wouldn't mind bein' given a new piece of weapon for her own personal armory of deadly tools, it doesn't seem like the type'a gift ya give someone to say thanks.

And then there's the only other choice that's comin' to mind: a night out.

No, not a date. It ain't a date if you're just takin' your friend out for a bit. No kissin' or huggin' or any of that mushy crap comes with a night out. I mean, what can go wrong there? Let her pick out where we go, I'll pay right outta my pocket if units are needed for anything. She'll have a good time, I'll fill up this weird void where my morality isn't supposed to be and we'll both be happy.

But it's totally not a date. No romantic gestures, no flower petals fallin' from the sky, no symphony playin' in the background…

Thing is I just have no idea how I'm supposed to bring that idea up to her at all.

With quick hands and a little too forceful of a tug, I pull out from under my bunk a crate of dismantled, useless pieces of the ship that I use for spare parts when needed. And with the energy rods on the inside burnin' out, my shots with this thing are painfully unpainful. Like, I'm shocked the jolts don't tickle my targets instead of mildly electrocutin' 'em.

"Lesse," I grumble to myself with nearly all of my upper body disappearing into the box. "Why would I have a drained quarnex battery in here?" I say as I hold the useless object in hand before tossing it over my head. "Ugh. Could use this… no, don't need no coils… do I still have that-"

"Deja vu," a voice from my doorway says with a playfulness I don't usually hear from that voice.

But I'm taken aback by it, despite its friendly… appearance. I pull outta the box as fast as I can and end up ploppin' down on the same spot as before as bolts and metal pieces scatter all around me. Gamora stands there in her black, tight-fittin' attire complete with boots up to her knees 'n' all. She's leanin' on the doorframe with her arms crossed, lookin' like the strong, one-and-only woman she is.

And I'm plopped on the ground with a ton'a spares scattered everywhere, a gun on the floor, and a bag of nuts tipped over. Yeah, I'm sure it's a hilarious comparison.

"Not cool," I say with the point of a finger, although I'm not completely serious, my stomach flip flopping outta nervousness at the sight of the green assassin. I keep my cool, though, not lettin' my words catch awkwardly or any visible signs of me freakin' the fuck out on the inside come to the surface.

"Well, it seems like I've walked into a room with a certain ringed-tail sticking out from a four-sided shape too many times in less than twenty four hours." She shrugs at her snide comment. "So, deja-vu it is."

"The hell is deja-vu?"

Gamora looks up at the corner of my room and tilts her head in thought. "It's a term Peter used once before. It's when you feel as if something has happened once before. Like you feel like you've experienced a period of time once before it actually happens? Maybe a sequence of events?"

I think to myself about the only form of deja-vu I really know I encountered myself. Vivisection after vivisection, needle after needle, scalpel after scalpel, scientist after scientist.  
>Oh, Gamora. Didja really gotta bring that up?<p>

I give a heavy sigh that inflates my entire form. "Yeah, that's true," I admit with a nervous laugh as I scratch the back of my head with one clawed hand and pick up a few stragglin' bits with the other hand. 'Calm down, Rocket,' a voice says in the back of my head.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, obviously catchin' the signs of embarassment. Awkward head scratching, nervous laughter. I'm usually careful enough to hide such things, but I guess I let 'em slip this time. "Are you still in pain? That is what I came to ask before you were halfway deep into a box of parts."

"Nah," I say with a dismissive wave of the hand, "I'm good. Pills worked wonders, I'd say." I look at Gamora for another two seconds before my eyes dart back down to my weapon on the floor. "Okay, sooooooo…"

There is silence on Gamora's end, to which I look up at Gamora and am greeted with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. She knows something's clawin' at me.

I shake my head and give a complete lie. "Perfectly fine, Gamora." I affirm this with a nod, my palms startin' to sweat a bit. Great, now I'm gettin' sweaty? What's wrong with me? "Couldn't be better. You're still doin' good, right?" I try to steer the conversation the other way around.

"I am in a fine state, yes," Gamora responds lightly, her expression remaining the way it is.

"Good," I say with a goofy smile plastered onto my face. Well, that didn't work too much. I'm gettin' twitchy.

For some reason, I expect Gamora to stride off toward the cockpit and join the others after my one-syllable response, but she doesn't. I still feel her eyes on me as I work on my weapon that lays on the floor, but I don't mind it. It's nice to have an audience while I work. Even in this comfortable silence, this perfect moment of bliss between us, I find Gamora to be perfect company.

Hell, she'd be great company for just a one-on-one da-get together.

'Oh, just say it, ya big loser.'

And that thought alone, along with the overwhelming nervousness that suddenly popped up when Gamora suddenly appeared in my doorway, somehow triggers my jaw to start movin'. I look up to Gamora, take in a quick breath through my mouth and somehow manage to say all of this in under ten seconds at rapid-fire speeds.

"So I feel like I really owe ya big time coz'a last night and I was thinkin' that on our next stop we could go out together and you could pick the place or whatever ya wanna go do and I'm totally down to pay for it coz I feel really really bad for passin' out under your bed that way and I relaly wanna make it up to ya but this is totally not a date it's literally just me bein' an all around okay guy. Whaddaya say?"

And when I really take in what I'd just said, when my brain really processes what I'd just said, when we sit in this silence where she's giving me a look that isn't exactly angry but not exactly happy, I only manage one last thing.

"Oh, fuck me."

That wasn't how this was supposed to go.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>somelittlemonster<span>: Aaaaaaaaaaaand then Rocket realized he might have screwed up.**_

_**This ended in so many different ways before that I didn't like. This was the best alternative for what I'd had before. Plus it can very well further the plot a bit, I think.**_

_**Also, if you caught my crappy puns, I hope ya laughed. The duck one was completely outta context in Rocket's head. He doesn't even know that blasted duck.**_

_**And since I literally have no idea what's going to happen next, I'm thrilled to see Gamora's reaction to Rocket's ridiculous request. Blame it on the nervousness, Rocket!**_

_**Comments are appreciated.**_

_**ALSO: I wanna see this Baymax suit, divisionten. It sounds awesome.**_


	4. Next was their explosive first date

"Oh, fuck me."

I stood in his doorway, staring at the overturned crate, the literal and metaphorical explosion that was his room, and rubbed my palm along my forehead.

I would be the first to admit that the stunt I'd pulled at breakfast was partially testing the waters- how would the others feel if I'd asked Rocket out? Or he? The reactions of surprise (Peter, Groot), calm acceptance (Drax), and high-caliber sarcasm (Rocket) told me what I needed to know. No-one was disgusted, at me or he, and he actually moved along with the ploy with an impressive degree of fluidity.

He actually **_did_** want to go out with me- alone. **_That_** was the surprise.

I figured he had some sort of cycle of heats (or, to be more precise, ruts, as he is male), because he got exceedingly testy and lewd around the time of my quarterly ovulation, and avoided my room as much as possible during menstruation (although I chalked that up originally to the smell of blood). Meanwhile, the rest of the stretches in-between, he didn't seem interested in anyone at all, male or female (or… tree? Non binary? Rocket does refer to Groot as 'he', but Groot grows fruit…).

I frowned a little, biting my lip. He was already startled enough and the last thing I needed (or **_he_** needed) was a heart attack and fleeing in terror to go claw on Peter's newest coat. Play the long game, then.

"That sounds… pleasant," I replied, tone neutral. "I haven't done anything recreational since we stopped on Xandar for that banquet. Even then, it was just a lot of free food."

"Ya… wanna fancier dinner then?" he asked, raising one soft white eyebrow, as he rolled wire between his claws.

Crisis averted.

"Gods no," I said, finally at ease, as I leaned into the doorway. "I do not like wearing formal attire. And if I want nice cooking, we have you and Drax on the ship." Rocket grinned, canines sharp and pointed, and he rolled the wires faster, twirling them in a braid in his claws. "I could actually go for some street food. Something greasy. Peter says we have a bodyguarding job on Demura that we are en route to, and it's during a street festival there."

"Festival?" His smile dropped. Crisis levels returned to high alert. With Rocket, I knew of certain things that set him off like… well like a rocket, but on occasion someone on the team found out something new about him, too. Odd things he liked (keeping a shallow bowl of water near the dash when it was his turn to pilot), hangups (he did bathe with water, but did not admit that he also groomed himself the way most small furred mammals do, and Gods help you if you walk in on him mid-cleaning), and certain glaring red buttons that you **_did not press so help you Odin_** (there is an unspoken agreement that if Rocket needs surgery, don't say **_anything_** to him, just administer the anesthetic and work quickly).

"We could always find a good shooting range," I offered, trying to diffuse the situation. "My skill in firearms could always use a brushing-up and the holosim you built, while excellent for practicing my aim, does noting to handle recoil on the gun or weather effects."

"Naw, that ain't it. Jus' never been to one before. But a shooting range sounds good, too… but, ah, we can do that on most places can't we?" He scratched behind his ear again, flicking both his claw and ear separately. Convergent evolution meant that most sentient species in the universe carry certain traits- bipedalism for free hands hands (and, by extension, tool use), forward-set eyes, ability to breathe air (though some were amphibious), and, interestingly, ears flush against the skull and a separate nose and mouth- to emote in an almost universal fashion. Even the blind in sentient species could smile, despite no knowledge thereof. But I'd noticed that Rocket's body language followed little of these conventions, and could tell over time that the few that did were forced- more for our benefit, and obviously done with conscious effort. Smiling, definitely was one of them- he was still not quite sure how to present it without it being something of a sneer or snarl, given his teeth and snout. His real marker for joy was in his tail- if it slowly curled and uncurled, and thumped on the floor as it did so, he was in his personal version of heaven. Flicking his ear, meanwhile, was embarrassment, and (fortunately, in his opinion) as he did not have the capability to blush, usually meant that anyone (that wasn't us) never knew. Rocket was a prideful creature, but he was also quite unsure of his work ever being good enough- I suppose being a creature born of science in the worst possible way may have messed heavily with his sense of self-worth- so when his prototypes were praised by Nova, and his ear flicked furiously while he was gloating, we all knew he was actually a tiny ball of embarrassment underneath the thick veneer of cocky pride.

Such as now.

But, at this moment, both his ear and tail were moving in overdrive, his emotions clearly written on his body if you did know how and where to look.

Embarrassed, but overjoyed.

"We'll be arriving in approximately twelve hours, Rocket. You aren't scheduled for shift so you should get some sleep. Work will not start until two days local upon landing, so we do have some time to adjust."

"Demura, huh?" he asked, as he realized his tail was still swishing like mad, trying to calm himself down- even put a paw behind him- to stop it.

I wanted to call him out on the display (saying noting of how… wonderfully cute the visual was), and decided in gentle teasing. "Quite a twitch you have developed Rocket," I said, mock worry in my voice as I stepped out of his room to rest. "I do not know, but were it me, I would have someone take a quick look at it… oh!" Groot lumbered up from the cargo hold, carrying… something in his arms wrapped in oilcloth, gently trying to nudge his way into their shared quarters. "Such as Groot here. Well, I take my leave for the evening," I added, as I turned heel, feeling my own face blushing, likely a deep shade of emerald.

* * *

><p>Somehow my sleep hadn't been as good as the previous night. Even with Rocket's nails having dug into my skin. It was probably from not having taken the sleeping aid. It certainly couldn't have been attributed to Rocket's warmth.<p>

* * *

><p>My light-ball alarm awoke me six hours later, to relieve Drax from the cockpit, and I yawned, stretched, showered, and hurried up to the top deck. Drax greeted me with a friendly smile and a gruff warning.<p>

"Next time, I ask hat you do not lie to me."

"I… I am sorry Drax," I replied, thinking back to breakfast. "Next time Rocket and I will…" Drax cut me off.

"We were worried about him and you. We left the club shortly after you did- after clearing the tab with the establishment and reclaiming our belongings from the luggage check. Be honest and let us know that you were merely returning for some time alone next time. When Groot saw the state of their room, he panicked. If Peter hadn't said that both of your handprints had unlocked the Milano, Groot may have frenzied."

"I… do apologize. I had probably gone to sleep just before you walked in, by the description of your timing." I blushed.

"I may have learned to calm my anger, but remember how protective Groot is of Rocket," he chided, before his features softened. "All I can say on the matter is leave us a note, as Peter suggested, and I do wish you both luck."

"Peter is a man of… widely varying… **_pelvic sorcery_**, but I am surprised to see you are not fazed by this," I responded, as I lowered the captain's seat slightly and checked the instrumentation and flight path.

"Are you both physically mature for your species?" he asked.

I blinked. Paused. "Yes…?"

"Are you both capable of consent?"

"Yes…"

"And are you both consenting to the terms you have agreed upon?"

"Yes?"

"Then who am I to interfere?" Drax questioned, as he cracked his back. "At our current trajectory, we should make planetfall in six hours. If I am not up, please wake me."

"Of course."

Drax descended below to his quarters, and I returned to the task at hand; I could vaguely hear the sounds of Rocket and Groot talking about something themselves, but the ship was too well built to make out their conversation, even then, I'd only understand half. I checked the instruments again, and, making sure no-on was looking, stretched out and put my feet on the dashboard.

* * *

><p>I rapped quietly on Rocket and Groot's door about five hours later.<p>

"We are going to make planetfall in an hour or so. Would you care to join me for a snack and a view of the landing?"

"Groot," came a gruff voice from the other side, and then the telltale click as the door slid open. Groot, now grown back to full size for some time now (although short limbs on occasion), did not sleep very much, if at all. He gave me a snort, and ran his tendril-like fingers through my hair with one hand, while cradling Rocket- all four sets of claws sunk deep into Groot's forearm, sound asleep- with the other. This time, Rocket was wearing clothes- a sleeveless orange shirt and another pair of black pants, with a small trickle of drool running down his face, matting and flattening the fur on the side of his head.

Groot was… petting me? Like he did to Rocket?

"We… are… Groot…" Groot rumbled, low and deep, as he scratched me behind the ear. It felt weirdly nice.

Rocket blinked an eye open, groggily wiping the saliva away with the back of his palm.

"Bwuh? We there?" he asked.

"I am Groot," Groot cooed, tiling his arm at and angle so Rocket could stretch and climb up on his shoulder. Rocket took in a quick sniff and jolted up proper.

"Warn a guy, greenie!" he yelped, shaking himself out and climbing to the top of Groot's shoulder as if his paws were aflame.

I smiled. "Come up when you're ready. I don't feel comfortable leaving the autopilot unattended too long this close to Demura airspace, especially if we are hailed for entry."

"Seriously," I heard him mumble. "Assassin or not, 's not fair. Not even dressed yet."

"I am Groot"

"Hey, hey, that's low, even for you, you pile 'a kindlin'."

* * *

><p>Within the half hour, everyone was above deck, breakfast tray secured in lap (save Groot), seated and belted for entry. Cold vegetable sandwiches, drinks in vessels that Peter called 'sippy cups' to prevent liquid from flying throughout the cabin as grvity and pressure within were slowly reduced to adjust out bodies to local normal.<p>

Local gravity was heavy enough that Peter would not be able to move without extraneous effort, but we figured that with Rocket's ability to lift objects far heavier than he with his augmentations, he would be fine, if a little winded. Drax, Groot, and I found no difficulty as we unbuckled from landing, collecting food wrappers and running final tethering checks. Peter frowned.

"Yeah, can't even lift myself out of the seat, guys."

"It is that bad for you?" Drax inquired. "We were aware you would be unable to participate on the mission, but the force is too strong to even move?"

"I'm turning artificial grav back on and staying in 'till we're done. Bill the extra fuel we waste to the client. Objections?"

"I am Groot."

"That seems the most prudent option, Quill."

I shook my head, and looked at Rocket, to my right. He was frozen still, eyes bugging out and barely breathing. I immediately turned the artificial gravity back on, and he inhaled.

"Rocket?" I asked worriedly.

"Well, shit. We're short two," Peter groaned. "You three sure you got this?" He reached over to Rocket and slowly worked circles on his back while checking for pulse and breath. Rocket swatted Peter's hand away from his wrist, but did not twist away from the other on his back.

"I'm… fine… shoulda… worn… my… flightsuit."

"Vertigo?" Peter asked.

"Blood… rushed… outta… head… to… feet…" He took a few more deep breaths. "I'll be fine. Just G shock from entry." I took a better look at Rocket. He was wearing stiff, sharp clothing, black with blue and silver trim, in Xandarian style. Not formal wear, but certainly not sleeping clothes or flight clothes. Was he trying to wear something… nice? The color did suit him well, and the silver contrasted well with his rusty-sliver fur. I will admit, I had done the same, a pair of slick black pants and a soft knit shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder.

He flexed his toes and glared hard at Groot. "Told ya it was a bad idea," he hissed under his breath as he stood up and stretched.

"I **_am_** Groot."

Rocket gave one last look at Groot and turned his head downwards, shaking.

"C'mon Gams, we're blowin' this popsicle stand."

Drax took in a breath, paused, and scrunched his face in contemplation. "I remember that one!" he bellowed, as I chased after Rocket, already heading to the hatch.

* * *

><p>It was already dusk in the city in which we had landed, and paper lanterns signaling the start of the evening's festivities had been lit. Rocket was walking slower than usual, and quiet.<p>

"Your clothes suit you well," I said, breaking the silence. "Are you sure the resident gravitational pull is not affecting you?"

"Is a little," he admitted. "But I can move. And I'm just s'pposed to snipe on the job so it's not gonna affect work."

"Yes, but we will be doing quite a bit of walking tonight. Would you… care for a boost?"

"Claws," he replied. "Jus' walk a little slower."

I peeled back the fabric from the shoulder sleeve that was not hanging loose, revealing a padded leather brace underneath. "You are not the only one dressed up for the evening," I replied, before offering my hand.

"Too good to me," he mumbled, before jumping up and scurrying to secure a spot, digging his claws in deep, knowing he wouldn't leave marks.

"What shall we do first?" I asked.

"First," he said, whispering into my ear. "We loose the three idiots tailin' us."

"…Three?"

"Peter's a lia… wait, he may not've lied. I smell the exhaust off his thruster packs, and I installed a scent packet in his helmet to be able to find it if it gets stolen offa him- less likely to be detected than a tech tracer, which he's got in it anyway. Well, liar or not, he's followin' us, and definitely tryin' to stay downwind. Groot and Drax are prowlin' pretty close too."

"We could try loosing them in one of the exhibit tents," I replied. "This might actually make for a nice little challenge."

"Then dinner. Already hungry, but Groot'll follow us there easy if we do that first."

"For a job well done, yes."

He grinned, bearing his canines, and I felt his tail thump happily against my back.

"Where would we be least likely to go?" I asked.

"Well, I saw a sign for sideshows, 'n I sure as hell ain't goin' that way. I don't think either of us want to end up on display tonight." He shuddered a bit, leaning his head into my own. I picked up my walking pace, now that he had settled comfortably, keeping an eye out for somewhere to duck and disappear from our nosy pursuit.

"Midway… let's stop there and play a few games."

"Thought we was tryin' ta loose them," Rocket responded.

"We do this and make them think that we don't know they're here," I replied.

"Make 'em complacentarians. Then duck off easy- good thinkin'. Oh, hey, a shootin' game. Twenty paces, 'head on your left." He gently pulled my head to look in the direction, and I briskly moved towards it.

"Two units a play," came a booming voice from the uniformed attendant. "Five shots, every target hit has a prize marker inside."

"Hit me up," Rocket said, fishing a unit strip from his coat pocket.

The attendant blinked for a moment. "Certainly," he boomed, then rang a bell loudly. People milling about turned to look. Playing a few games of skill would definitely lower the guard of the trio of morons following us, if such a racket was made every time we stopped to partake in a booth. Several orange-skinned lizard children looked on in awe, a few dragging their parents closer to watch the furry alien in a suit heft an air gun over his shoulder and test the aim.

"Gams, what am I tryin' to win ya?" he asked.

Most of the prizes were children's toys- dolls, streamers, noisemakers. I spied something in the orange bracket.

"There are kites. Try and get an orange target," I responded.

"Of course ya give me the hardest challenge," he joked, standing behind the line drawn on the platform. I watched- the orange targets were both the smallest and the fastest moving.

He hefted the air cannon, and loaded the first paint pellet. Splat. First hit, first try. A small round of cheers from the kids. "What next?"

I spied a small child watching and crouched down. "What would you like?" I asked, looking up at the child's parent for approval. The parent, holding a paper cone filled with sticky candy gently nudged their child.

"Snake," the young one squeaked out. "Plushy snake."

"Rocket, aim for red."

"I can't see red, numbnuts," he laughed over his shoulder. "Which ones?"

Right. Red colorblindness. "There are no brown targets."

"Next time say aim for brown," he joked, and pinged his second shot neatly.

"You're going to run me dry," the attendant joked.

"Don' worry. I only got three shots left. Next?"

"Can you get a doll for my sis?" one of the kids asked.

"Which one?"

"Orange."

"Are all the good ones orange?" Rocket asked, and shot two orange targets in quick succession, before loading the final pellet.

I stood behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and mussing the fur on the top of his head. "Go for broke."

"Always…"

**_BOOM_**.

We had no time to react as we felt the ground shake below us. Rocket dropped the gun and clung to me.

**_BOOM._**

Another blast, and a stand thirty paces away exploded into flames. People screamed and scattered, Rocket curled flat against my stomach shaking before gaining composure, growling low.

"SOMEONE IS GONNA PAY FOR RUNIN' MY NIGHT!" Rocket bellowed into the ash- laden wind. "COME HERE AN' TALK TO MY FACE YA **_BASTAAAAAAARDS_**!"

I could not have agreed more.


	5. Along with an unexpected incident

_**Somelittlemonster: Shoutout to everyone over on who's also readin' this. You're all kickass.**_

* * *

><p>It was just one thing. One. God. Damn. Thing.<p>

Can't I just have one thing work out without, y'know, some sorta high-class explosive ringin' in my ears and the stench of ashes fillin' up my lungs? I mean, fires smell nice 'n' all, especially when they're caused from my side'a the field, but right now? Of all the places and times, did this shit really have to happen right frickin' now?

I got nice clothes on (Groot really convinced me to wear this thing, somehow, the dumb ass stump. Played the "ya wanna look nice for a good date" card, too. Was it worth gettin' a nice bout of G-shock? I can't even be sure, but I hate Groot right now), I'm playin'-no, I'm **kickin' ass at**-a game and winnin' these little buggers ludicrous prizes just to make 'em smile, and I got one more shot left.

"Go for broke," Gamora says. I can do that. Those are some damn good words to live by, too. 'Go for broke', 'fake it 'til ya make it', 'don't stop 'til ya get enough'. Last one's from Quill. Don't know where he picked it up from, but I like it.

So I was expectin' tonight to go by smoothly with the mood rather excitable but calm in the sense that there ain't any chaos on the streets. But my life ain't normal. Remember that? Never has been, never will be. So of course something, somewhere out in the universe decided to hear my statement "Let's blow this popsicle stand" and take it literally.

Course it ain't Drax. I… well, I mean, I **hope** it's not Drax. The brute could cause an explosion of that caliber if he really tried. Don't know how, but he'd find a way to do it. Any of those losers would do it. Quill, Drax, Groot. But Groot knew how frickin' thrilled I was about this. So of course he wouldn't do nothin' to screw with-oh, who the hell am I kiddin'. Guy's nosey when it comes to me. I'm surprised he hasn't popped up over our shoulders yet and started makin' it weird yet.

"One frickin' night, I swear…" I clench my fists together tightly, nails diggin' into my palms. A frustrated, angry growl comes out of my throat as I watch the orange-scaled kids scatter like the rest'a the crowd. Oh, frickin' perfect. The booth not too far from ours, whatever it was about thirty seconds ago is just smoke and flames now. Across from that one? Same status. Think it was some sorta vendor sellin' greasy smellin', probably delicious food.

Now **that's** a tragedy. Food doesn't deserve such a sad, cruel, unforgiving fate.

People are screamin', panic's ringin' about as loud as my ears are, and everything is an all around clusterfuck. Not a proper term, but hey, I'm a… uh, a guy of not-real-terms.

But even though I'm ticked off beyond the measure of any kind of scale, I still have to be calm about this. Crisis or not, I still got someone to look after. "Gamora?"

"I am fine," Gamora responds, having already regained her composure as she dusts off her sleek pants with two hands. "Looks like we've got work to do. Seems our work day has come ear-" Explosion number three makes an appearance, all the way on the other end of the tent. More screams, more insanity as people rush around us to get the hell outta here.

"Mission startin' early?" Sarcasm's drippin' off every last syllable.

Gamora's gaze darts around the area quickly. "No. I don't understand how. It was a bodyguarding mission, not any sort of-move!"

At first I don't understand what she's yellin' about, but then I catch the sound of something cockin' from behind me. I just barely have time to take a step before Gamora moves as fast as lightning, knocks me outta the way, and stops the rifle in the black, orange-speckled hands before it can get two shots out.

I've seen Gams in action many times now. Swords dancin' around, the unbelievably satisfying sounds of gleaming metal against the air followed by the sound of a sickening schluck is just music to my furry ears. But even without the swords, she's almost more impressive. I don't even see exactly what she does to the attacker, but he ends up fallin' to the ground in a defeated, probably dead pile a broken knee, an arm twisted in a very unnatural direction, and a rifle pried from his cold fingers in just a matter of seconds.

At further inspection, turns out this guy's Rayjack. Annoying little fucks, they are. Really insect-like in their appearance, definitely not someone ya wanna be caught kissin' under a full moon. Big bug eyes, surprisingly sharp teeth, and a generally bony, skinny, almost weak stature. Hate 'em. Disgusting as hell, too. Got a stench like acidic vomit mixed with snot. Gotta say that it goes with their skin rather well, the black and orange patterns dotted with a bright yellow and a bit of brown. But yeesh. The overwhelming stench of morning breath mixed in a steamin' pot of vomit and musty sweat is fuckin' unbearable. Take a mint, man. Shower. Antiperspirant works like a charm.

The bastard even twitches like a bug as his sharp, quick breathes slowly but surely stop after a moment of his eyes glancin' back and forth in a panic.

Ohhh, yeah. He's dead alright.

"I think you'll need this." Gamora tosses the weapon to me like she totally didn't just open up a can of whoop ass on this bug-boy crumpled up like a fly at her feet.

I catch it with two hands rather clumsily since the damn gun's heavier than it looks. "Oh, yeah, definitely gonna need it. So, about this job?"

"Maybe it's-"

There's been three explosions so far, right? Three? Yeah, three. So this makes for a fourth one. But this time, it's not from inside our arcade tent. It's outside of it, and the bright flash of the absolutely astounding explosion outside lights up nearly all of one side of the tent.  
>"Maybe this is just an isolated incident?" I offer as loudly as I possibly can over the sounds of debris and dust settling outside, followed by more panicked screaming and crying.<p>

"Or it is likely that these Rayjacks are the very heart of the issue," Gamora replies almost bitterly. Is she implyin' somethin'? A set up? Maybe? Oh, c'mon now! This can't be a damn set up! She says nothin' more of the Rayjacks, though, as she turns and looks to me with her "business time" mode activated. "We need backup. You know where to find them with that keen sense of smell, right?"

I give a quick nod up and down, almost expecting explosion number five. They seem to really like interrupting us. It doesn't come.

"Go and find them. I'm going to get everyone out of here and into a safer-" Oh, there's explosion number five. Again, outside, but there it is!

Gamora's gonna hold down the fort here on her own? I know she's capable, as I literally just witnessed, but this is all totally unexpected. We're wearin' nice clothes, we don't got any weaponry on us ('sides this kinda mediocre rifle in my hands) and she wants to just… improvise some sorta plan? We don't even know what the hell's goin' on! For all we know, this could be a damn assassination attempt on part'a… someone! I dunno who, I'm just makin' this stuff up in my head as it goes.

When it really strikes me, I feel a slight twinge of fear and panic. But… why? I don't get it. I know Gamora's gonna be fine. She's an assassin, one that's taken out a shit ton'a bastards in her lifetime while she was under the watch of the biggest psycho in the entire fuckin' universe. Sure, he's a bad guy 'n' I wanna punch him in his crap lousy face just for existing, but he sure as hell made a damn good assassin outta Gamora.

So even though I know Gamora's gonna be fine, that I'm sure she'll be able to kick ass for a minute while I find our company, why the **fuck** am I feelin' this nervous about it? "Wait," my ear twitches slightly, "ya can't be serious. Ya want this gun? I prob'bly won't-"

"This is no time to argue," she says as she kneels down on my level. "Go find Groot, Drax, Peter, any of them." She stares me dead in the eye, grabs me by my shoulders, and affirms, "I will be just fine."

For a moment, I don't know what to do. It's a startlin' moment where time freezes and it's just me 'n her, and I don't really know what… what I'm supposed to do. But somehow those simple words finally strike me as assuring enough to where I regain my composure. I nod up and down quickly, give that sharp grin again (at least the closest approximation of a grin that I can give) and nod. "Okay. Will do."

Gamora's expression remains mostly unchanged as she says, "Be careful," in an almost half-worried, half-firm voice before looking in the other direction. But she does smirk slightly as she says over her shoulder, "Go for broke."

I salute her with my free hand as I watch her start heading off as quickly as possible toward the other exit, hustling a small entourage of orange lizards to hustle it in the same direction she is going.

I take a whiff into the air, clenching the gun in my hands tightly, tryin' to pick up one of three things to follow my trail: this strangely musty scent of a certain tattooed brute, jet exhaust and that packet that I put in Quill's helmet, or the stench of wooden bark covered in moss. I even catch Gamora's, just like it was back when we'd shared that night in bed together. And I hold onto it because I know that she's not about to stay in one spot for as long as she can. But the other three are more important right now.

Two of 'em are basically outta reach. Quill's and Drax's respective scents are just barely caught up by my nostrils. But I do manage to hold onto a somewhat wet, mossy, bark-smellin' one that's gonna lead me right to the only person that fate would give me for backup in this instance.

En route to the tree, I keep Gamora in mind. I gotta be quick about this.

"Too good to me, god dammit."

* * *

><p>I've managed to hold onto Groot's stench rather well despite the current state of this festival. Pushin' through a crowd of panicking people is a pain, keepin' track of Groot's mossy, plant-like smell bein' a bit difficult to do while also dodgin' past legs and tryin' not to get stepped on. But I never do lose it.<p>

When I finally get to Groot, he's at the far end of another tent, I assume all on his own, looking like a lost, confused kid for whatever reason. He's not scared, though, from the look in his big eyes. Just genuinely confused by the explosions and the widespread fear that basically everyone is infected with now.

"Groot! Yo! Hey!" I yell out over the crowd.

Even though his face lights up when he sees me (it usually does coz he's a stupid moron), Groot greets me gruffly. "I am **Groot**?!" Seems our mission has started a tad early for us, wouldn't you say, Mister Nicely Dressed?

"Can ya quit with that?" I yell as I scutter up his body with one hand, bein' sure my nails are diggin' in deep just because I'm really sick'a hearin' about the way I'm dressed from him. "Where the other guys at?"

"I am Groot!" Groot begins to trudge in the direction I'd came from with a quickness. They headed back to the ship not too long ago. Peter's thrusters were letting out quite a bit and he fell flat on his back and could not rise from his spot. I do believe something shorted out?

"Help. I've fallen and I can't get up." Does explain why I could smell those damn things so good, though. Gonna have to make some repairs, I assume.

"I am Groot," Groot says a little louder. Drax carried him back, I stayed here so I could… observe.

"Ya mean follow me and Gamora around, right?"

"I am Grooooot," he lies through his stupid, wooden teeth. I did not see where you two headed. What were you doing?

"Went into the game tent. Tried to lose your ass by playin' this shootin' game. Won Gams a kite and a bunch'a kids a ton of shit."

"I am… I am Groot?" That… You won toys and gave them to children? I swear he stifles a laugh.

"Yeah, so?"

"I **am** Groot." You do not seem to be the type to be kind to children (Believe me, I didn't know I would like kids at some point either.)

A pregnant pause as I give Groot the flattest look ever-

And then **BOOM.**

This time it's the tent we were literally just standin' right next to, probably a good twenty feet behind us now. The whole thing doesn't go up in flames, but the roof of the tent catches as tons of people push through the entranceway in a flurry of screaming and insanity.

"D'ast… just go back this way!" I say, thrusting my finger in the direction of the Midway tent. "Me 'n Gamora were in there!"

"I am G-" What about those in the-

Explosion. Explosion number six.

Now I wouldn't pay so much attention to it because at this point, these things are just somethin' to expect at any second. One could happen right in my frickin' ear and I'd just brush it off. If I were Quill, I'd take out an orange headphone and say, "What?" like it was just me or Drax tryin' to catch his attention span that only lasts for three seconds.

But what startles me is where it comes from.

It's from the direction of the tent me 'n' Gamora were just in.

"That-That way! Explosion! Move, idiot!" I command with a scream with the thrust of my finger. At this point, it's not really about understanding why these Rayjack bastards are doin' what they're doin'. It's about gettin' this area cleaned up of 'em, and, more importantly, findin' Gams out there.

* * *

><p>Gamora's not in the area surrounding the tent full'a games at all.<p>

But I do see Rayjacks, catch their nasty stench of stomach bile mixed with shit from a decade-old silo, and me 'n' Groot immediately begin our assault on these pieces of garbage in our typical Rocket-and-Groot fashion.

And it's as fun as always.

I'm holdin' onto Groot's head for dear life, tugging the tree in the direction I need to fire this weapon at in order to get the best leverage. I'm laughin' like a maniac, Groot's yellin' out and smacking and stabbing things with all the brute strength he can muster. It's like the Kyln all over again. It's thrilling, the sight of the threat on the horizon pumping blood through our veins, hearts kickin' in our chests like a bass drum. We're just kickin' ass and not takin' names coz we don't got time for that last bit.

"Easy work!" I laugh. "Think I saw a few stragglers go into the tent," I say with a nod toward said half-burned structure. "Head in there. Maybe Gams is still in here."

"I am Groot?" This is the one you and Gamora entered?

I start givin' him a glare and a thrust of my finger toward the entrance. "Ya know damn well we came in here, stalker. Just go."

He obliges, but with a grin and a laugh from deep in his throat at my comment also accompanying his actions.

We pass through the entrance way that I've already entered and exited once and stride by the shootin' game booth. I snarl slightly as I look around worriedly. "No Rayjacks so far, no Gamora." We round the corner of the booth, but I keep lookin' behind us for the sight of our dear green assassin. "Where the-"

Suddenly, without warning Groot twists around, nearly knockin' me flat on my back.

"I am Groot!" Groot commands over me. Rocket! Behind me! Behind me!

And at first I think there's somethin' comin' up to kill him from behind. But the oncomin' group of five with a mother fuckin' mini-gun tells me otherwise.

The massive barrel begins to spin.

"Blockade! Branches! Blockade'a branches!"

"I am Groot!" That's the plan, Rocket!

After slippin' off Groot's shoulder, I press myself up against his back while kneels down and forms a blockade of dense, interweaving branches to protect us from the oncoming fire that spits rapidly at the two of us. Well, mostly me. He can take a spray of shotgun shells and still get up like he was only gettin' tickled with feathers. "Groot! How many we got?"

Groot pokes his head over the arm-blockade for hardly five seconds before he shoots his head down just in time to have a spray of bullets just barely miss his face. He grunts at the feeling of the lead slamming into his arm, givin' me a discomforted look and an angry rumble from low in his throat.

"Groot, ya okay?"

He nods almost painfully. "I-I am Groot!" he bellows. T-Ten! And they seem to have many more on the way.

"Fuckin'-" I peek from around the side of our blockade and nearly get my brain painted on the walkway. "Where the hell's Ga-"

The sudden sound of a battle cry from over the blockade and behind the rattlin' of the mini-gun is familiar. The sounds of a rifle similar to this one rings in the air, followed by a couple of cries of surprise. The mini-gun whines to a close, the sound of a few more shots findin' their marks before the mini-gun starts up again.

But not toward us.

I rise quickly, not thinkin' that maybe someone's still got their sights aimed at us, and raise my gun and start shootin' like no tomorrow. The bastard with the gleamin' mini-gun in hand, a Rayjack, but with less of a skinny, poke-me-and-you'll-break-every-bone-in-my-body build, twists his head toward us.

At least three bullets find their way into his stupid fuckin' face. And I laugh at it.

The remaining dickfaces, back to five, twist toward me. And from a booth just a few clicks behind them emerges a figure I am damn glad to see.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom

Five quick shots on Gamora's end, all in under a matter of two or so seconds, and the buggers go down with metal in their skulls.

"Groot, fix your arm, man," I say after I drop the weapon to my side and give a sigh of relief. "You okay?"

Groot nods, and his arm slowly but surely goes back to its usual formation, the sounds of tiny pieces of lead clinkin' up against the ground.

"Ho-ly shit," I say, followed by a high-pitched whistle, as I pad out from behind Groot's slowly dismantlin' branch shield to greet Gamora with a smile at the beauty around the two of us. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous work we do, as usual. Always a big, splattery, beautiful mess with a couple of chunks of skin here and there.

"I didn't think you would need any protecting, Rocket," Gamora tells me as she drops the rifle to the ground and pats her hands clean.

"Shit gets hectic, sugar," I respond, my ear flickin' slightly and my tail swingin' back and forth slightly. Why'd I call her sugar? Seriously, where the fuck did that come from?

"Shouldn't you be protecting me instead of the other way around?" she further teases.

I roll my eyes at that. "Not part'a the plan. Did go for broke, though." Groot trudges up behind us and gives Gamora a cheesy smile. "What's up with ya, cheeseball?"

"I am Groot," the tree muses. We found Gamora. I assume you would be thrilled.

"Course I'm glad we found her," I say with an exasperated sigh, my ear flickin' again. Not to be rude, Ear, but can ya chill?

Luckily, Gamora has no further comment on that. She looks down toward the glorious mess of squashed bugs and tightens her face. "One of them is still alive."

And behold! She's right, as usual. He's draggin' himself along with his hands, his legs bleedin' at a rapid pace. It takes no more than a few steps for Gamora to catch up to him, flip him onto his back, and pull him a mere inch away from her face by the collar of his black jacket.

"What was your purpose here?" she growls through clenched teeth menacingly. Seriously, an angry Gamora is a **terrifying **Gamora. So I don't blame the guy for whimperin' a little at her question. "Answer me."

"W-Wrapje. Target for-for a job."

I slowly pad up to Gamora's side and make the gun in my hands noticeable for the Rayjack to see.

"Wrapje?" Gamora questions.

"Red-fellow. St-Stole from-from our boss. Was working one of the booths." He falls silent, seemingly finished talkin'. But we both know he's got more in that brain of his. Just for good measure and also because I'm an asshole, I cock the weapon with a sly grin on my face. At that, his insectoid voice picks up the pace. "Selling weaponry! The boss-boss was unsure of exact location of his booth, so he-he forced us to place detonators in each tent to-to draw him out."

Gamora stares hard into his massive eyes before she mutters, "Wrapje is not the name of our client," to me.

"What?"

"Our client's name is not Wrapje."

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

At first I thought this really had somethin' to do with our job we came here for. But this? This is just… an isolated incident.

This just had to happen tonight, didn't it?

I laugh out loud. "Wow! That's rich. Hilarious, simply hilarious."

Silence from the Rayjack.

"So ya made a big, elaborate setup just so you could just blow everything all to hell just to kill one measly dumbass?" Please understand that this laugh I give isn't fake. But it is the second most real, authentic, hysterical laugh of my entire life because this is… bullshit. "Went off and had my night ruined all coz of a weak ass scheme," I spit in anger. Yeah, I know I'm bein' funny and laughin' at the whole situation, but it really is a crock of shit in my head and I'm more pissed off than anything, as indicated by the snarl on my face, the hairs standin' up on my body, and my ears pressed so far down into my head it's like I never had 'em to begin with.

"Pathetic." That's Gamora's way of agreein' with me, I think.

She knocks the bastard out cold with a chop to the throat and immediately rises to her full height.

I drop the weapon from my hands and give a frustrated sigh. "Waste'a time." Twistin' around miserably on my heel, I huff a breath outta my mouth and shrug at Groot as I approach the tree slowly. "So much for nice clothes, buddy." Seriously, I'm covered in ashes and smell like Rayjack blood. "Aaaaand we didn't even get the kite for ya, Gamora. Woo-frickin'-hoo."

Gamora comes to my side a moment later. "Rocket, is that really the source of all your stress right now? After this entire ordeal?" She doesn't sound pissed at me, just more confused at my reaction than anything.

And yeah, I am pissed that our night got ruined. It fuckin' sucks.

I look up to her givin' me a partly frustrated look and say, "Yeah, coz this was supposed to be a damn good night for me 'n' you. But of course nothin' turns out easy. Rayjacks come from outta nowhere and just…" I stop before I can start up on a rant, instead huffin' and puffin' a little more. "Frickin' Quill's fault. Took up this 'bodyguarding job.'" I mock Quill's voice to the best of my ability when I say 'bodyguarding job' with great exaggeration.

"Rocket, please," Gamora's calm voice comes right into my ear as she kneels down on my level and makes eye contact with me. When our eyes meet, I clench my jaw shut and stop bitchin'. "Relax. This was not anyone's fault. Yes, it was unexpected, and yes, our night out is practically over." At that, she offers me her arm, removin' the fabric to reveal the leather piece again. I scurry up and secure my spot as she continues talking to me. "However, this was unpredictable. None of us could have known this was a forthcoming event."

"Wish we would've known what we was gettin' into, though," I mutter as I rest my head on top of Gamora's like I'd done earlier. "Coz now I just wanna go back and forget this ever happened."

Groot frowns at that, lookin' at the booth where Gamora and I'd been playin' earlier. Suddenly, as he looks to the ground, his face brightens at the sight'a… somethin'. "I-I am Groot!" he says enthusiastically. Hey! Wait a moment!

Gamora and I share a confused look as Groot disappears from view for a moment. When he emerges, he has somethin' cradled precariously between his wooden fingers, a stupid smile plastered on his wooden face as he lumbers toward us.

"I am Groot," he tells me. This is yours, I do believe. Groot holds out both of his hands, and I finally can see the d'ast object in hand.

Diamond-shaped, orange, torn slightly near one of the corners, stained in dark ashes and a couple of holes from burns here and there.

It's that damn kite.

Gamora gives me a look with her mouth slightly agape, a smile pullin' at her lips as I snatch the stupid thing. She looks almost shocked that Groot's even pullin' this shit, but it's not a bad sorta surprised. "How in Gods names did that survive?"

I shrug and my ear does it again. Flick. Ear's gotta chill. Seriously. It really, really, really has to stop.

I consider the stupid toy in my hand carefully, inspectin' it like it's a precious jewel I'm never gonna see again. But it's just a piece of orange fabric, one that probably won't even work if we tried since it's all tattered apart and all that. I should just throw it over my shoulder, have Groot go get some help, forget that I've got one shot left on that stupid ass game.

But this was kinda sorta the first real "date" I've ever been on. Okay, yeah, I'll admit it. This was a date. Not a typical one, since normal dates aren't so explosive in this sense. But this seems like the type'a thing to keep to remember such a ridiculous event.

"Actually, Groot, this thing's Gamora's." I offer the kite with one hand to Gamora, givin' her the most genuine, non-threatening kinda smile I can muster even though I'm still ticked off underneath all this fluffy brown fur and consistently flickin' ears. It's stupid for me to even be tryin' to lighten any of this up, really. There's bodies all around us, the stench of ash and fire still burnin' strong in my nostrils, and I swear I might'a lost a whisker or two at some point.

But, hey, go for broke, right?

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Somelittlemonster<span>: Rayjacks - Mentioned by Quill in the movie. Sounded like insect-like creatures to me. I imagine they're almost bee/wasp-lookin' creatures._**

**_Wrapje - Guy from the comics. Think he's some sort of weapons dealer._**

**_Tried my best to incorporate the bodyguarding job mentioned in the last chapter, but I couldn't find a believable reason that would tie the job and the Rayjack attack together._**

**_Comments are kickass._**


	6. With a bit of a cooldown for food

_**division-ten: I'm BA-ACK! WOOO! Convention was great, business trip was crap, here's another chapter.**_

_**somelittlemonster, I am so sorry to gee you a medical chapter for your turn. But I really REALLY wanted to write the action sequences for the Demura client, so yeah. Here you go.**_

* * *

><p>"Let's go get something to eat," was what I finally decided on, realizing the toll of running around in such a dense environ was the source of my irritation. Not Rocket, attempting to grin, not the battered kite, not Groot looking at the two of us, lopsided, bullets still embedded in his bark.<p>

"I am Groot?" he asked, curiously.

"Groot, if you're asking to join us," I replied, "I'm not sure this is the best idea. Bullets may not harm you so, but if you do not return home and tweeze them out now, you could leak sap and get a fungal infection."

Groot looked down and shuddered. He may not get ill as we do, but we were all privy to the last time Groot did not properly dislodge foreign objects from his bark. It wasn't pretty. Groot pulled a few ones out that he could easily reach, grinned, and began to follow as I carried Rocket, feeling his fatigue setting into my shoulder, and the burnt kite, towards the tent exit.

"Groo?" Groot asked again, catching up.

Rocket looked up from leaning his head into my own. "Look, you can't fool me, I can see a' least five more lodged into ya. Go back and get Star-Dork to pick 'em out. Ya don't even _**need**_ food like us fleshbodies. If anyone c'n handle 'emselves, it's Gams over here."

Groot frowned, mumbled another "I am Groot" under his breath, and slowly loped back in the direction of the ship, defeated by logic.

"Dumb tree don't even got a nose and he's the nosiest one I know," Rocket grunted, burying his snout in my fur the minute he knew Groot could not overhear. "Sorry, Gams, let's go somewhere that don't smell like charred wood n' meat. 'S burnin' my nose somethin' awful."

"That would likely be most of what… no, I remember reading in the guidebook about local delicacies. We won't have our street food, but how does raw fish sound?"

"Gross," Rocket replied honestly. "But I'm willin' to try anythin' once and I ain't growlin' right now 'cause I'm mad. But we're all gunked up. No respectable place is gonna let us in lookin' like we jus' walked outta hell."

"No respectable place is going to turn anyone away after what just transpired," I replied. "And if not, we just find some counter service. The night is still young, and, unusual circumstances aside, we finally have some time to ourselves. Shall we?"

"Sure," he finally replied, with a halfhearted sigh.

"Am… am I not a good companion?" I asked, as I picked up pace looking for the town's main strip of shops. It was not even nine in the evening local time, so most places a block past the fairgrounds were open and bustling. We received a few looks and a medic stopping us to assist, which I turned down, showing we were unharmed other than a few scrapes and singed fur and hair.

"No, 's not it," he replied, as I stepped past a low-lit small restaurant, pictures of their dishes on small placards in the window, which was fortunate, as I did not read the local language. Rocket detached an arm from my shoulder and looked up, sniffing. "That's the raw fish thingy?"

"This was supposed to be one of the better places," I replied, remembering the picture I'd seen on the 'net. "It is, however, not cheap. I am happy to split the bill."

Rocket sniffed the air and attempted to hide licking his lips of the saliva that began to form. "I think I'm renegotiatin' my stance on dinner. This what you wanna try, yeah? But no backsies. I'll cover dinner, sugar."

* * *

><p>"Sorry about the inappropriate attire," I said to the restaurant host, gesturing to Rocket and myself. "I am sure you heard about the fair incident by now."<p>

"It's no issue, miss," he replied. "Do you and your…" he waited expectantly for me to supply the relationship.

"_**Date**_," Rocket said. If the host was surprised, he did not make any indication. I smiled a bit at the thought.

"Yes, do you and your date need to clean off? There are washrooms behind the bartender's stand."

"Thanks," Rocket replied, hopping down from my shoulder, testing his hind legs again against the gravitational pull, and waltzing back to the bathrooms. By the twitch in his tail, I could see his pride in being asked, instead of being assumed a pet, as he had been more often than we would have all liked.

Even burned in spots and lightly stained with Rayjack blood, that suit looked _**good**_ on him. And the fraying seemed only to suit him more. I squeezed my hand, realizing I was still carrying the toy kite as the host led me not to a table hiding in the back corner, but one near the middle of the establishment.

"Thank you for your service on Xandar," the host said, a light nod. "We do not mean to push, but if you'd sign something for us, we would be grateful," he added, pointing to a wall of framed napkins and menus.

Ah. That's why he did not assume Rocket a mere animal. Publicity. Other than Peter, none of us were very familiar with the concept of PR, but there was little harm in signing a napkin. Rocket had already been riding astride my shoulder all evening, so if anyone with a holo recorder had passed us in the street, there would likely already be salacious headlines in the rumor mill of trash press come morning.

"That will be no issue," I replied simply, as I slid into my low seat on the floor. For once, I would not need to request a booster chair for Rocket, which I am sure would be a deed appreciated, as I folded my legs to sit.

Rocket returned, fur fluffed and free of ash, and I nodded and stood to remove some surface grime before consuming dinner. "Man, did they go all out, whole place is fulla tables my size," he joked, as I stood up. "What am I getting' for ya?"

"Honestly, I'd like to leave it up to the house," I replied, mussing his fur on his head as I passed him. "I have no idea what to order."

I washed up, fixed my hair best I could in the mirror, and wound my way back to our table. A small white bottle and two ceramic shot glasses were placed on it, and the giant orange kite was gone.

"Uh, sorry," Rocket said sheepishly. "I know _**I**_ could use a drink after that flarkin' experience, but I know how fast I get drunk n' stupid. Especially off somethin' this strong. Waiter said 's on the house, 'n just brought it over."

"That's noble of you," I replied. "Let me thin it a little when they bring some water, and we can toast at the very least. The kitchen is unlikely to take back open alcohol."

"Ya sure?" Rocket asked, rolling the empty glass in his hands. "Just one of these is prolly gonna make me impaired. I'd be surprised if that's less n' 100-proof. And sugar, I think we both know we've long gone past toast and straight into crispy-fried."

I snorted a little.

"Wonderful etiquette ya got, sugar," he joked back.

"Speak for yourself," I replied in mock annoyance. "I thought dumpster diving was fine dining for you."

"_**For your information**_," he shot back, "I may not ride this rodeo often, but yeah, it's not my first time on the Paranegan bull."

"Oh," was all I could say as I mulled it over. Rocket didn't really talk much about his personal life on the ship unless it was relevant. And even then, sometimes only _**after**_ he was chased down by some former bounty freshly freed from prison.

"So, ah, what _**do**_ we even talk about?" Rocket asked. "I mean, the carnival, under nor'al circumstance, was a great idea. We could do stuff… here we is jus' sittin' waitin' for food… I can't exactly do small talk…."

"How was your day? What do you do for a living? What are your hobbies?" I replied in a mock motherly tone. "Trust me, I prefer this to _**that **_alternative. Unlike you, my only prior experience with dating was when I had to do it for information gathering. So, and I am genuinely shocked in saying this, you have the upper hand here."

"Really?" Rocket asked, ears shooting straight up in surprise. I smiled inwardly. His body language was oddly fun to follow. "I, uh, kinda assumed you'd been around the block a few times."

"If we are sorting people on dating experience, it's probably Peter, Drax, you, me, then Groot," I said, as our first course arrived, some kind of warm fried dish.

"Fried pressed bean curds," the waiter, no, waitress said, handing us warm towels. The local people were hard to distinguish until they spoke aloud; males and females used differing speech patterns. My translator thankfully supplied verbal tics to for me to tell them apart, and I wondered how my speech sounded to them.

"Where is the silverware?" I replied, looking between the plates and cups.

"Ah, no, everything is eaten with your hands," she said, orange tail flicking behind. "We bring out towels between each course so the flavors won't mix on your fingers. The small blue vegetables are eaten after each course, to cleanse your palate," she added, pointing to strips of peeled blue vegetation on the side of the small dish. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Water would be nice. And what is the proof of this beverage?"

"It's 20 proof. I know, it smells as though it should be more. It is a grain alcohol processed similarly to beer but tastes closer to wine or fermented fruit. Let me know if I can explain anything else as it is served."

"That's good, thank you."

The waiter turned away to attend to another table, and I poured glasses of the clear liquid into our cups.

"Gotta say, this was a better decision than I thought it'd be," Rocket said, as he lifted up a triangle of fried curds from the communal plate. "Alcohol that won't get me drunk offa one shot, fried food, wet towel before a course, no humy sized silverware or tables… Oh," he added, changing the subject, as he examined the piece of food with his fingertips, still glistening with a bit of the hot water, "You got the order wrong."

"What, of dating experience? You think I should have put Drax first?" I asked, as I picked up a triangle and bit. Fried, but not greasy. It was excellent. Maybe not the corn dog I had really been looking forward to, but the taste and texture hit the spot well.

"Ah, no, it's where ya put Groot."

"What, he has dated before?"

"_**Dated**_?" Rocket replied chitter-laughing as quietly as he could to not disturb those around him. "Ya do know he was _**prince**_ back on his home planet, yeah? He had trees linin' up to make seedlin's wit him."

"No…" I said, incredulously. "I am really _**last**_?"

"Damn straight ya are. 'S Groot, Peter, Drax, me, then ya. And I'd bet money on it, too. That overgrown shrub's the one who forced me to change. Idjit even bathed me against my will, he did, 'fore we landed."

"I am trying to imagine him dragging you down to the main head and forcing you into a tub."

"Vines everywhere, 'Mora. There was _**no**_ escape. If ya'd been belowdecks ya would'a heard me whinin', but ya had console duty."

"That sounds like something out of a horror movie."

"Or a really bad A'askavarian porno," he added with a snort.

"What was that about decorum?" I teased, as the waitress gave us another course, four light blue fluffy squares tied to a dense bundle of red rice, arranged with sauces on a small plate.

"Tamagozushi," she said, and I frowned slightly. I hated that proper names, like food, never translated out, but she quickly explained the ingredients before retreating. "A light, baked omelet topping rice."

"You were saved by our next item," I said sternly, as I picked up a piece.

"That's how I've rolled for all sixteen long years a'my life, d'vine intervention. Speakin' of, ya do realize ya robbin' the cradle, right?" he added, holding up his shot glass.

"And you, then," I replied with a smile, "are robbing the grave."

* * *

><p>The rest of the dinner went by far quicker than anticipated. We'd done the one thing I tried to avoid- a fancy meal- but it had turned out better than expected. Conversation rolled quickly, as we laughed and joked over about fifteen tiny courses of food. I was concerned that just us, sitting somewhere more formal, would be boring, or stir up memories of men I'd conversed with, and later disposed of that very same night. The fair would have been a distraction, a chance to <em><strong>do<strong>_ something, but even dinner on its own was wonderfully pleasant. We left the restaurant, stomachs full, around midnight local, and slowly worked our way home for rest. Rocket was back on my shoulder, leaning into my head again, content, carrying the kite, which he had dismantled back into a roll of orange tarp, the metal crossbeams, and the kite's aluminum-thread tail, bundled and held by one free paw.

It was… nice.

* * *

><p>I opened the hatch to the airlock, shut it behind, and repressurized and re-grav'd the small space. I felt my ears pop and Rocket jolted up from his half-slumber.<p>

"Ahwhat," he piped.

"Home," I replied, stepping into the ship proper, from the cargo room. Peter, Drax and Groot were sitting on the floor; Peter had a pair of tweezers in his mouth as he ran his hands into the crevices of Groot's bark, while Drax had a bottle of ointment at the ready. Rocket dropped the rolled-up kite, hopped off my shoulder, and went over to the trio.

"Forty-six," Peter said, spitting out the tweezers and holing out a shallow pan full of spent casings. "When he came in like this, I would have smacked him for wanting to trail your date after the Rayjacks got cleaned out." Peter didn't even try hiding that he tailed us as well.

"I am Groot," Groot replied defensively.

"Yeah, well, this's what ya get for doin' so in the first place, ya idjits," Rocket replied.

"All things considered, I do not regret it," Drax replied. "I may not have been able to stop them, but I did manage to evacuate a good section of the festival, and we have been listening to the news since; thankfully no locals were killed, although at least one hundred have been hospitalized, mostly from smoke inhalation.

I _**do**_ apologize, however. Peter and I both thought you were playing some sort of strange trick on us, and we followed to investigate. The whole ordeal seemed a bit out of character."

"I actually thought…" Peter started, as he pulled a hand back from Groot with a cry.

Splinter.

Rocket jumped and grabbed Peter's hand, absentmindedly pulling it out to a second cry, this one slightly more grateful. "Look, I thought you, Gamora, had been a Skrull, coming back from the bar yesterday… well two days ago, now. You didn't seem right and we were actually planning on ditching you here and rounding back to Hor-Kal to run a scan for you. Something we can do to make it up to you?"

"You were only being cautious," I replied, mulling the previous hours in my head again. While I did not feel any different than normal, I did present myself as serious and reserved, and my outward change in attitude was likely striking. "I would likely have done the same. Although I would not be adverse to someone relieving me of my chores for a few cycles. Especially since _**someone**_ cannot leave the ship without technological effort."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter replied, shaking out his now splinter-free hand.

"Ya burned out your thrusters, though, didn't'cha?" Rocket asked, as he stole the tweezers from Peter's lap and dove into some deeper crevices, flicking out the last few bullets into the pan.

"And what do we owe you, friend mechanic?" Drax replied, as he smeared medicinal-smelling ointment into the bullet holes.

"This planet's fairly advanced, got some decent parts here. Can I order about 20,000 units worth a' stuff? We've got a free day t'morrow and I can get 'em delivered by mornin' if I wire in the order."

"Geez, man," Peter replied. "Ask for a swimming pool too, while you're at it."

"Well, the thruster's repairs 'bout six K of that. Unless you wanna pay for some new ones."

"Uh, no," Peter replied shuddering. They were probably many times that cost over to replace, by his expression. Yondu must have given them to him at some point; Peter did not look the type to have that kind of money to his name when I met him. "What's the rest for?"

Rocket looked down. "Me."

"No I mean, like, some bombs, or a new gun for you? What?"

"He said, 'me'," Drax cut in.

_**Oh**_.

Leave it to Drax to be the most perceptive when it came to words.

"What, man, that's not even up for debate, then," Peter replied. "Take what you need. We're going to be pretty set for a while after this job," he added, standing up.

"Private clients often pay more," I butted in, taking Peter's place next to Groot with the incendiary pan. "But they sometimes weasel their way out of paying us at all, and are often quite shady in nature. Don't bank on our fortunes until after the units are on the ship and we're out of orbit."

"Wait, did none of you read the dossier?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Dude, only Nova sends _**dossiers**_," Rocket grunted, pulling out another shell as Groot let out a whine. "Gimmie a private client that sends a report 'n I'll give ya the Nova spy that sent it."

"Uh, yeah. Because this is a Nova job." Peter smacked his forehead with his hand. "Dude we're protecting, okay, _**you're**_ protecting given the circumstances, is a possible member of the Kogey mob and a definite hardline Kree supporter. He's either clean- and just a bigoted racist, but clean- and he's going to pay us, or, more likely, he's _**not**_ and it's a trap, and Nova's paying us triple his offer to bag him, dead or alive. Either way, we're getting paid. A lot."

"Or three times a lot," Drax said proudly. "_**I**_ read the report."

"I am Groot," Groot grunted.

Rocket nodded sagely at the comment. "Groot's right. Drax, you're a kissass."

"That is not my preferred bedroom pleasure, and even if it were, it would _**not**_ be with Peter."

* * *

><p>"Hey, 'Mora," Rocket said quietly, after he'd plucked out the last bullet and shooed everyone off to bed. "Four things, if ya got a mo'."<p>

"What is it?" I asked, kneeling down to face his eyes."

"One, I had a great evenin', so, uh, yeah. Thanks for the date."

"As did I. I would be happy to do it again," I replied, smiling. Rocket's tail thumped. The feeling was clearly mutual.

"Uh, two, can I take the supports 'n the tail from the kite?"

"Considering it cannot likely fly, please. I was going to ask if you could use the parts. I just wanted the orange tarp." The kite was large enough that even after cutting out the few singed spots, the material would be perfect for making weather resistant clothing- lightweight, waterproof, and wind resistant. I would have more than enough fabric to make Rocket a hooded raincoat from the kite body.

"Three… uh, I know we're suppos'd ta kiss or summat after a date but, ah, I can't really do that," he said, pointing at his snout.

I opened my arms wider, beckoning him. He blinked twice, flicked an ear in confusion, and I pulled him into a gentle hug. His tail stiffened in surprise, and then relaxed, wrapping his small hands around as far as they could go.

"So, usually the kiss is the final thing, correct? What could your fourth request possibly be?" I asked, teasing, ruffling his fur. "Repair your suit?"

"Uh, ya are pretty good wit' surgery. 'N the cybernetics in ya are pretty similar t' mine. Ya know how to do some repairs and replacements? I'd rather have ya do it than some greasy mechanic or some… hospital…" he added, spitting out the word unceremoniously. "I trust ya. I've seen ya fix your arm before."

"I am in need of some minor repairs, as well. How does a trade sound? Add some topical anesthetic and a few other items to that order- I can give you a list."

"I talk ya through some augmentations, ya do the same?" he asked, a little more confidence this time.

"Peter's going to think we are using tomorrow as a spa day," I replied, jokingly. His ears, twitching in embarrassment from the request, finally stilled under my chin.

"Man, he'd better," Rocket replied, as I stood up, still cradling him in my arms as I ascended to middeck to return to our cabins. "I can _**always**_ use a massage and a stiff drink after bein' poked around inside. 'Specially if we're gonna walk right into a fuckin' trap the day after. I almost want him to just be a bigot, hones'ly."

"So, I am going to see you naked twice in three days," I replied, deferring the thought of work.

"New record," he grunted. "But now I get some retr'bution."


	7. Afterwards a spa day

_**somelitlemonster: To ryankrage77 on FF . net: I only have an account over on Archive of our Own. That's where you'll find this story along with my other material posted. Come find me on there and you'll find an abundance of Rocket bein' Rocket and Groot bein' Groot!**_

_**Took longer than I'd have liked. Turns out I was blowin' surgery outta proportion the first few times...**_

_**Finished writing this with Maroon 5 playin' in the background. Hard to not write 'sugar' more than I need to when that jam's on...**_

* * *

><p>"I am Groot?" You <strong>did<strong> add the anesthetic for Gamora to your order, am I correct?

"Yes," I respond, annoyed. I've answered this question too many times for bein' in this room with Groot for only ten minutes. Worried, overprotective idiot… After me 'n' Gams agreed on givin' one another some repairs, our 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' deal settled, we both headed to our respective rooms after biddin' one another good night.

Best. Night. Ever.

I mean, yeah, things looked really hairy there for a minute. Groot gettin' bullets stuck in his body, thinkin' I was just gonna let 'im go off and get sick again. Seriously, don't ever leave things like bullets in a flora colossus' body go untreated. Fungal infections are severe. Like, really really really severe. Scary shit.

Suit got torn up, got some Rayjack blood on it too. Nothin' that can't be fixed, though. Maybe I'll keep it in its current state. Think it's a lil more intimidating and more my style. Makes it look less stiff and formal and more battle ready and-

Wow, okay. Apparently I wanna run on a fashion runway, the way I'm talkin'.

Point is, Gamora really saved the night, I think, with that quick idea for food. Real good, too. And our conversation was… nice. Just stupid stuff. Dumb personal accounts of some of her more typical assassinations, some of my more humorous ordeals with the walkin' piece of kindling. Prison break #16 is always a good one. I mean, only I could file a random bone down to a fine, sharp point and bust out some old-fashioned locks on me 'n' Groot's cells. Plus the way I'd come to acquire that wasn't too… pretty.

So after leapin' outta Gamora's arms, I'd walked in on Groot sitting on my hardly used bed, fiddlin' with the tablet I now had in my hands, and began to add up me 'n' now Gamora's order of parts and the like. Groot's peering over my shoulder as I add everything up and

"I am Groot?" he asks from over my shoulder as he leans in closer, eyes squinting. What else do you require?

I pull the screen closer to my body to shield it from Groot's view. "What's it t'ya? Just stuff I need for some minor adjustments. Now Gams' materials too."

"I am Groot." How was the remainder of the night, by the way?

I grunt. "Ugh. Why ya askin', Nosey? So ya can go report to Quill 'r somethin'?" I'm not even bein' sarcastic about it. I genuinely feel like that's what Groot's gonna go off and do.

"I am Groot," Groot huffs. I do not mean to intrude, and I have no intention of going to Peter with anything you tell me, Rocket. I am merely interested in yours and Gamora's relationship. I am curious as to how your night out went.

"Relationship? It's-" I stop talkin'. I mean, is it a relationship? Maybe Groot doesn't mean it in such a condensed, romantic sense. I know him well enough and he didn't say it like some kinda ugly kid in grade school who knows his friend's crush. "Okay, but seriously, what the hell were ya doin'? Quill 'n' Drax had a reason, a** damn stupid reason,** but it's plausible… just short'a fuckin' dumb as hell, though. What's your explanation? Peer pressure?" I snicker as I twist my attention back to the tablet and review my materials one last time. "Lesse… oh wait. Thruster materials. Duh." I swipe left and scan over the page with my eyes quickly. Groot remains silent.

"Waitin' for an answer," I say with impatience and a wave of my hand.

"I… I am Groot?" If I said it was a mere coincidence, would you believe me?

"Yeah, and I'm the uncle of a talkin' ape named **Skrunge**," I mutter in fluent sarcasm. "That's a little too unbelievable, idiot. C'mon."

Groot goes to say something, shuts his mouth, and then starts up again. "I am… Groot?" I was both curious and… worried?

"Worried?" I scoff. "Yeah, okay, sure."

The plant nods. "I am Groot," he croons. I heard Quill's unusual theory on Gamora being a Skrull and dismissed it, but I did feel as if something was off. Groot shrugs and twiddles his wooden fingers. "I am Groot," he admits in defeat. Of course there was nothing to worry about aside from a few Rayjacks. And that seems to be the source of it. I was worried that something was going to turn sour for the both of you.

I blink. He sounds genuine about it, lookin' like he's scared that I'm about to lose it on him just for havin' the tiniest bit of stress over me and Gamora's night out. But… I'm kinda flattered that Groot does care a little. Course he should lay off a bit and just let things play out. Me 'n' Gamora can handle ourselves, but I really can't blame the guy for wantin' to make sure it all went good.

But just to be sure Groot ain't messin' with me, I ask, "Wait, ya didn't wanna… like, screw with us?"

Groot shakes his head sheepishly.

In some strange way, I'm shocked slightly by Groot's answer. Groot's my best friend, the type'a guy you'd expect to take any opportunity to embarrass me, throw me under a bus of frustration, and then some. He's pranked me now and then and I always get him back coz **Groot d'ya know who you're messin' with?**

So I'm, like, legit surprised.

"Really?"

Groot nods. "I am Grooooot." I just wanted to assure all went well. The last time you went out for any sort of recreational activity was… well, that terrible clubbing experience, technically. But it has been quite a time gap in terms of 'dates.' He's right. "I am Groot?" You have not been on a date in… a long while, correct?

I shrug reluctantly. "Well, yeah," I admit. "Few I did go on were all setups for bounties, remember? Don't know if those really counted…"

"I am Groot?" My ear flicks at the translation. The example he offers up was a particularly unique case in which instead of taggin' 'n' baggin' someone, we had a rescue mission. Amalya?

"Eh," I say dismissively. "Wasn't really a date. Just her showin' us gratitude for savin' her ass from bein' captive to some Skrull bastard. Didn't count. That fried lizard was damn good, though…" I recall, the thought of that far-gone lizard wettin' my taste buds quite a bit.

We're silent for a bit as I finalize the order, now with the addition of the parts needed for thruster repair, and it clocks out as a little over 20,000 units. No biggy since we're 'bout to hit the jackpot (or three times the jackpot) and be settled for a good long while.

I wire in the order a moment later, get a confirmation pop up, and rub my tired eyes. "All set," I announce to no one who really cares.

"I am Groot." That's good. Sleep now?

"Yeeeeep." I slip off the edge of the bed and go to change into suitable clothes for sleep.

I basically tear myself outta the ashy, blood-stained clothing faster than Groot can say three words before throwin' 'em lazily across the floor. Halfway through me pullin' the same orange shirt from the night before over my head (the rule of 'wear shit twice then wash it' is one of my many to live by), Groot asks, "I am Groot?" Was it as you had expected it to go? Dinner, I mean.

I think up a gazillion words at once to respond with (fantastic, perfect, amazing, the greatest, etc.) It's difficult to think up a way to describe it, so I just say with an awkward stutter, "Uh, it-it was good. Nice place we went to. Had good food. Alcohol didn't get me shitfaced with just one damn shot either. Only 20 proof. Never had anything like it…"

"I am Groot?" Groot asks with a strangely happy sigh and a smile stretched across his face. Was it as you'd expect a date to be?

"Wasn't a-well, yeah," I admit. I already settled it was a date in my head. Might as well make it official in spoken words. "I mean, I guess. Gamora 'nd me couldn't've have a better time, I think. Didn't feel… awkward or stupid or anything. It was good..." A moment later, I add, "...'sides gettin' ash in my fur and gettin' my suit torn up beforehand…"

Groot gives a throaty laugh and cocks his head slightly in observation. "I am Groot," he rumbles as his eyes flick to my feet to my head. You do need another bath, I believe. You look as if you've been dusted in some sort of seasoning to be eaten by Drax.

"**I **can handle cleaning myself," I immediately retort as I pull my second leg through its respective pant leg, "thank ya very much. And bad joke." In all honesty, the big oaf of Drax's first observation about me bein' that is funny, I think. Course no on really brings it up too much. Well, 'til just now anyways. "No need to reenact that vine event, man. Save that shit for our mission tomorrow, yeah?"

"I am Groot." If you insist.

"Seriously. Don't do it again. Weirdo."

Groot offers me his arm, an offer I gladly take, as he says, "I am Groot." In all seriousness, I am glad it went well for you both. And I really do hope you both have another chance to do something like this again.

"Thanks," I respond as I take my usual spot on Groot's upper arm, clutchin' on with my nails dug deep into his bark. "I 'ppreciate the sympathy. Just don't go stalkin' us anymore. I gotcha scent well, man. I'd know if any of ya were on our tails." Metaphorically speakin', of course, for Gamora. It's mostly physical in my sense.

There is a few minutes of silence before, just as I'm about to doze off, Groot speaks again. "I am Groot?" Do I smell nice?

I manage a scoff at his ridiculous question and sleepily say, "If it helps ya sleep at night, sure."

* * *

><p>Somehow sleepin' is rough that night. Usually I cling onto Groot and get a comfortable position and eventually dose off and slobber all over his shoulder in a matter of minutes. That doesn't happen. Even after tryin' to sleep in the hammock at the end of the bed and the actual bed itself, tossin' and turnin' for another hour, I end up back on Groot's shoulder. I do clonk out at some point, but there's somethin' tuggin' at me, makin' me think I gotta have… somethin' else there? Somethin' vital to my sleepin' pattern?<p>

Never had this happen before. It's like I need to be in a different setting entirely...

* * *

><p>I wake up the next day to the sudden motion of Groot's arm swayin' with a jolt. I don't panic, but I do grip on a little tighter as to not tumble down the mountain of wood that is the flora colossus.<p>

"Wha' the hell?" I grumble, eyes opened to mere slits.

"I am Groot," the tree responds, looking as if he'd just been awakened as well. Drax knocked on your door. Said the order for your parts came in.

Somehow the arrival of my tech feels like a signal to ready myself for the day. Although our mission isn't 'til tomorrow, I hate the days that precede the actual day of the mission. Constant preparation, last minute business matters, yada yada. Always a constant feelin' on the horizon that things aren't gonna be okay when we actually do go on the mission tomorrow and such.

Course they're almost always okay.

**Almost**.

"Did it really?" I say it like I don't believe 'im. "What time's it?"

"I am Groot." Eleven, I do believe, local-time.

"Early delivery." I relieve Groot's shoulder of my weight and arch my back in a dramatic stretch before we head out into the open to greet Losers Number One and Two and Gamora. But our trek to the galley, which emits a stench that I can only describe as irresistible, is stopped by a stack of two boxes, one at least a four feet in width and height, at the bottom of the stairs leadin' to the lower deck. The other is a smaller parcel, although rather long, resting atop the other box. I assume the big box is the thruster parts and the smaller one's the, uh… stuff for me.

"Slide that smaller box into our room," I tell Groot from over my shoulder, the massive box on the bottom already between his wooden arms. "Thruster parts, bigger one. Put that one down in storage for now. Have ya bring it up when we need it."

Groot proceeds to do so and I head into the galley. This time, Quill's stirrin' in the pans and Drax and Gams are both seated at the table.

"-told Quill that he should very well cut down on the fattening foods," are the words I walk in on Drax sayin'. "I have carried him many times when in times of desperation, and he-"

"Okay, okay!" Quill says with an exasperated noise I can only describe as the bastardized brainchild of an 'ugh' and a 'eeeeeeeeeeeh'. "For the twenty gazillionth time? Gravity? Yes, thank you?"

Gamora has no comment on the event but she looks to me as I stride into the room with a strangely bright-eyed look. "Sleep well?" she asks.

"Eh, guess so," I blatantly lie with a dismissive hand wave to the entire company of our ship. Course no one knows I had a shitty sleep, nor should they really suspect I did. Black circles under my eyes ain't a thing… well, I mean, kinda, but also not really. "When'd the stuff come?"

"Good morning, friend. And nine-thirty," Drax tells me. "I did not wish to wake you that early."

"Good," I tell him as I take up the free spot across from Gamora, "coz I had no intention of gettin' up that early anyways."

"Don't blame you," Peter remarks over the sound of frying eggs. "I don't like dealing with early morning you any more than I have to," he jokes.

"Nice purse," I say, referencing back to Quill's "totally-not-a-purse" knapsack that happens to be a purse, "did your dad get it for you?"

Quill just scoffs and laughs. We should probably get on findin' that dude, but I don't bring that up to anyone. "Anyways, joking aside, thruster parts came in. Are you planning on repairing them today er…?"

"Later," I tell him. "I, uh… I got stuff of my own to fix." I feel like I'm makin' the implication of me needin' some fixes to my personal body known well. Shoutout to Drax for just, y'know, bein' the only one with a brain for once.

Gamora gives me a tight-lipped look that I think is somewhat piteous, so I drop the awkward conversation that's spiraled back to me somehow with, "Thrusters'll work fine. Just figured they could use a tune up." Groot strides in finally and plops down next to me lazily.

"I am Groot." Things are in their places.

I give him a thumbs up (Quill showed us that… we all don't get it but we find ourselves doin' it more 'n' more lately) as Quill continues our conversation. "Does a tune up mean," Peter turns away from stove, finally catching my eyes for the first time this morning, "replacing every last bit of internal wiring?"

"What can I say?" I say, pickin' out a bright green, plump fruit from the bowl that he slides in front of us with quick hands. I take a massive chunk out of it, chompin' my gums as I add, "Gotta be quality or it's not perfect like me."

Gamora snorts and rolls her eyes at that, but she's got a grin on her face. She knows it's all in good fun.

* * *

><p>The morning seems to slip by in a matter of minutes, really. After breakfast, Quill made the five of us actually go over the report that none of us read. And by none of us, I only mean Drax, the Kissass, and Quill, the Kissass-ee, had read the d'ast thing. Took longer than I'd expected it to, really, and it was less than enjoyable hearin' Quill blabber on and on.<p>

The entire time Quill talked, Gamora was givin' me a weird look. I pretended not to notice, and the one time we did make eye contact for a split second I gave another awkward attempt at a grin. She returned the gesture until Quill asked us to "stop givin' each other those dreamy eye looks, it's awkward."

Apparently just a glance toward someone ya went out with once means ya automatically are givin' 'em cheesy looks. Yeah, okay. Terran logic is shit on a platter, I think.

It's at least mid day or so when I finally decide to bring up our 'spa day' to Gamora. Honestly, I'm not thrilled about it. I really really really really really really really really really really really really really **REALLY** ain't too thrilled about the actual, uh… surgical part of it. Makes me sick to my stomach and just… I hate it.

This sorta thing happens now and then. Minor things are in need of replacements, especially after takin' a hit from a d'ast EMP like we did. Nothin' too bad, but I just know when things aren't right with my body. Rather hit the problem when it appears instead of just actin' like it's perfectly okay and havin' to suffer the consequences of all of even a minor issue later on. Hell, I could get my brain fried up if I don't treat even a slight technical issue with the enhancements trailin' up my spine immediately. I'm nervous as all hell, yes, but the thought of Gamora helpin' me out instead'a some frickin' doctor, of all the people, is a lil' calming.

Me 'n' doctors, uh… we don't get along too well.

I trudge outta my room with the box I'd asked Groot to place inside in two hands and trot off towards Gamora's room. Instead of findin' it sealed 'n' locked firmly shut, it's open. I poke my head into the doorway and catch sight of the green ex-assassin sittin' on her knees on the floor, seemingly searchin' for somethin' underneath of her bunk.

Maybe it's a medbag full of pills that she's totally gonna take without readin' the bottle.

I'm a fuckin' idiot.

I rap on the edge of the doorway a couple'a times. "Gams?"

Gamora turns her head to the sound of my voice. "I thought I'd be seeing you sooner than later." She rises to her feet, hands on her hips as she gives a huff of breath and looks around the room.

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

"Just the med bag you made into a creative display night too long ago."

"Oh," is all I say. "Well, I was gonna ask… uh, y'know… this?" I gesture to the box with my nose. "Figured we should get started as soon as possible." I hear a shakiness in my voice but I don't mention it to Gams.

Coz she picks up on that pretty damn well on her own. "Would you mind assisting me first?" Gamora asks-no it's more like an offer, I think. She knows we all got history here, but mine's a little, uh, hard to get by for me. So yeah, I'm delayin' the inevitable, but I just gotta set my nerves down a little. And workin' on whatever Gams needs me to work on might do it.

"Yes, affirmative, yeah, good, of course" I tell her as I stride into the room.

"So," I say, layin' out the box on its side and openin' it with my nails in one quick swipe, "got the topical stuff. I'm gonna assume I'm gonna be cuttin' through skin?"

"Yes, that would be part of this, Rocket," Gamora responds like that should'a been an obvious fact.

Fuck.

"Right, right. Ya got skin like me."

"A **very** difficult observation to make," Gamora snidely comments.

"Oh, shuddup."

I pull out the necessary materials for Gamora's side of the bargain (topical anesthetic-we both can use this, actually, for the numbin' part-along with rods, alloy connectors and other varying bits of circuitry) and lay 'em out in front of me. "This is for, uh… which part'a ya?"  
>"Forearm," Gamora informs me. "Since our accident with that Krylorian I've been experiencing side effects of what I believe is damaged servos and fried circuits."<p>

Ohhhh. Servo probs. Get it. I quickly gather up my materials and struggle a bit tryin' to get onto the bed. "Ya don't mind us doin' it in here, do ya?"

"That, actually, was going to be my suggestion," she tells me. "So long as we don't make a mess, we can do it in here." In other words, she don't want no blood on her sheets or for me to tear 'em apart outta panic. Gamora takes a spot across from me on the bed and I notice the med bag I'd so desperately needed only nights ago at her side.

She reaches in and pulls out a scalpel a second later.

Yipe. Don't like the look of it in the light'a the room.

"You'll need this," she tells me as she holds the medical tool outward.

Well, this is kinda ironic, ain't it? Never had to cut someone open before like this. Course Gams ain't gonna bleed everywhere coz it's… Thanos did **stuff** to her even I don't understand. But nonetheless, I'm still gonna be cuttin' her arm open.

I take it carefully and I hate the way it feels in my hand. Cold, kinda familiar. It almost looks like it says, "Hey, wanna play?"

And I really don't wanna play anything like this.

I'm so lost in the disturbing form of the tool in my hand, so focused on the disturbingly familiar curve of the blade, the silver shine of it that I hardly notice that Gamora has already sprayed the anesthetic all about her arm.

"-cket?"

"Yeah, that's me, hi, uh, sorry." I basically just tripped over all'a my words like they were a flight'a stairs and I had no workin' legs. I look away from the scalpel in hand and meet Gamora's look of understanding.

"I-I can do it myself, if you'd like." I don't even give it a thought. I want this thing outta my hands right fuckin' now. I hand it to her in an instant and she immediately draws it closer to her arm to make the incision without even flinchin'.

"So, uh," I keep my gaze fixated on her face, although she ain't makin' eye contact, "good idea with dinner last night."

Even though she's cuttin' her arm open, Gamora does manage a slight smile. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Not quite the greasy stuff we wanted but, hey, whaddaya gonna do 'bout Rayjack fucks, eh?"

"Do what we do best," she tells me, her expression firmin' slightly as she finishes. "It's safe to look."

She just fuckin' knows I don't wanna see that shit. But since I know there ain't no blood or nothin', I do manage to-

Holy. Shit.

Now I've seen tech before that's fascinated me. Guns, bombs, ships, land vehicles, everything. But I've never, and I mean never, seen anythin' as fascinating and fantastic as the stuff beneath Gamora's skin.

I… I can't even describe it, honestly. Everything's so precise, clean, clickin' and makin' sounds that I'm pickin' up only coz I got the ears to hear that. A good metaphor, I think, for the tech in Gams is that it's… god damn, what the hell is-gah, never mind. Lost it.

"We gonna need to stitch you back up?"

Gamora shakes her head slowly. "Regenerative healing factor. So long as I hold this wound open, it won't seal itself shut. My regenerative cells have been heightened because…" She doesn't finish. There's no need to finish.

"Whoa. Don't take this the wrong way Gams, but Thanos sure turned ya into somethin' damn amazing." Course I mean this in a complementary way.

Somehow, that doesn't get my expected response. Shoulda known better, coz I don't like the stink eye Gamora gives me.

"See what I'm talking about?" Gams peels her skin away a bit with her free hand to reveal some crossed, frayed wires and darkened circuits that shouldn't be that dark'a color.

I give a quick nod up and down. "Yeah, I see it. Happened on the other arm too?" Gamora gives a huff of frustration and nods. "Well, that's definitely a problem," I say as I take up the replacement wirings in hand.

"Well, we're going to be fixing that issue right away, I'd presume?" Gamora challenges with a sly smile.

"Duh," I say. "Can have this done in no time flat. Anything else ya need fixed up specifically?"

Gamora shakes her head. "Aside from the same issue in the other arm, I don't believe there's anything else in need of your immediate attention."

"Alright. Hold still now, alright?"

Give me 'n' Gams half an hour and boom. Done and done. Wirings, circuits, and everything went from fried and frayed to shiny and fully functional. After reviewin' my work very quickly, Gams' arms almost immediately begin to heal over with I considered delayin' so I could explore her insides a little more, but I-

Okay, okay, laugh. Go ahead. Laugh at that.

-I knew we had other business to tend to. Business that involves her fulfillin' her half'a the bargain.

It's strange that her arms manage to heal over so quickly. I expected her weird as fuck healin' factor to kick in but I didn't know her skin would seal up like it hadn't ever been cut into and be left unscarred in less than ten minutes.

Gamora's fuckin' amazing. Holy shit.

"What'll I be doing for my half of our deal?" she asks, reaching out and doin' that thing where she messes up the fur on top'a my head.

Not gonna lie, I like that a lot. It's just… nice. Weirdly nice. "Just some stuff back here," I say, pointing over my shoulder. "Need t' have the, uh… see, it's complicated. Kinda gotta see it to understand."

Gamora nods. "Okay. Well, should we get started now?"

Fuck. I really don't wanna.

"Yeah. Let's do it now," I affirm.

After a minute or two of gettin' out the parts for me, gettin' towels in case we need 'em, and Gams closin' the door (bless her fuckin' soul, god dammit) outta courtesy of my personal privacy, I almost instantly undress myself. Unlike Gamora's surgery, which was mostly fluidless due to the extremely heavy nature of experimentation on her arm in particular, I may very well just bleed a tiny bit. Course the anesthetic should stop it to a degree while also numbin' me down, but we just wanna be safe.

Once I'm completely naked in front'a Gamora (still awkward, might I add, despite this just bein' a surgical procedure), I immediately lay on my stomach near the edge of the bed. Gamora's standin' at my side instead of sittin' coz it's a better vantage point for her to work from.

"What am I looking for?"

"See the biggest hunk'a metal stickin' out right-?" I reach a hand around and try to prod at it again, "-there? Just below that's some, uh…" I struggle for a moment to find my the right word. "See, it's a part'a my, uh, vertebrae I guess? Whatever it is, whatever… **They**…" Somehow I don't realize how short'a breath I sound or the fact that I'm legitimately runnin' on fumes as I talk until Gams interrupts me.

"Rocket," Gamora says easily. "Relax. Just, shall I have a look for myself?" She raises the anesthetic bottle slightly.

"I-I guess," I hesitate before I fold my arms back underneath my head. A sec later, four sprays from the bottle find their places on the designated area where that once-blank patch'a skin was overexposed to the entire galaxy. I flinch slightly at the cold, half-expectin' it but half-thinkin' it'd be more warm than anything.

"What's wrong?" Gams asks, soundin' like an overly concerned mother.

"Cold," I said. "J-Just be quick with the cuttin' part. Know it won't hurt but I don't like the feel of it," I tell her with a shaky breath.

"Right. Relax. Breathe, Rocket."

"Just… open me up below the cybernetics that're pokin' out, right? Tell ya from there what I need…"

This time when the scalpel goes in, I don't panic like I usually would. I know Gamora's the one doin' it, so I'm definitely gonna be okay. I keep a steady head, think 'bout stupid shit (those waffles from a couple'a days ago come to mind- they were so damn good), and just wait for Gams to ask about the particular piece I'm referrin' to rather vaguely.

"Bracers," I say. "That's the word."

"Bracers?" she asks. "For your… spine?"

"Yeah," I grunt at the sound of the scalpel and, uh… I just call it 'the Prodder' in my head, scrapin' against one another. "Had Groot help me do a scan'a me before our lil' night out. Saw that there were irregularities around that area, prob'bly from that Krylorian bastard."

"There's more than one, if I'm assuming correctly?"

I nod painfully. "Yeah. Just take those out and put in the replacements. Careful, though when screwin' 'em back in. Don't want no other damage done. Damn metal pieces keep my spine in this shape permanently."

"Honestly, it's somewhat fascinating," Gamora remarks, before adding quickly, "Not that what happened to you wasn't…"

I snicker. "Heh, don't sweat it, sugar. After all, I did just say what Thanos did t'ya was, y'know. I know it's fascinatin' since my kind don't exactly…" I stop for a moment. "...walk around on two legs."

Gamora snickers to herself for some reason.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing at all. Just that **someone**-" I think the implication that I'm this 'someone' is made clear by the strengthened tone in her voice, "-accessed documents on a certain Terran species."

Okay, yeah, so… I pick up on things 'round the ship. Heard that 'raccoon' word now and then and figured I should know instead of askin' myself every d'ast time the word accidentally slipped outta Quill's mouth, "What in fuck's name is a raccoon?"

"I, uh, didn't feel like delayin' the inevitable," I mumble. "Got curious. Heard that word around a lot and just… got curious. I-" The loud sound that I can only describe as an airy 'pop' comes. Somethin' pinches slightly in my back, near where my spine ends and my tail begins. I grip the sheets tightly, press my nose between 'em too. "Gah, shit."

"Did I-"

"Nah, ain't too bad," I say despite the scrunched up, pained look I can feel. "Puttin' the new ones in's usually a real pain." I turn my head as far as I can over my shoulder. "Ya-ya got one down, right?"

"Two left," she says with a reassuring nod.

"Good. Honestly, with all our small talk we're doin' I totally forgot you was workin' on me. Seriously, you're amazing at distractin' someone."

"I'll just take that as a compliment,"she remarks sweetly while pullin' out the rusted, damaged metal disc and beginnin' installation of the new one.

We're silent for the installation of the second titanium plate up until I grunt in pain again. My tail shoots upward, presumably since this one just got put in near my lower back, and I grip the sheets so tightly I'm shocked my nails don't tear holes into the bed's mattress.

"F-Fuck."

"Relax," Gamora muses. "Breathe in, breathe out. Nearly done now."

I nod into the sheet, breathin' in and out loudly through my mouth like a rabid animal pantin' like a nutcase. "Be quick 'bout it," I say. "I ain't bleedin', am I?"

"Shockingly, no," Gamora tells me. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Course it is."

Again, we remain silent as Gams pulls the old metal from off the final part of my spine, just near my mid-back. She works quickly, precisely, and carefully all the while hummin' some sorta song to herself. I pretend not to notice, but the little tune she's carryin' in a strangely nice hummin' sound is calming.

"Quick question."

"Fire away," I say."

"Is there a reason why you lied to everyone at breakfast earlier?"

Shit. Knew somethin' was up with that. "Well, didn't feel like sayin' I had a shitty sleep. Just…" I swallow nervously.

"Nightmares?"

"No, no, wasn't that," I tell her assuringly. If that were it, I would'a been screamin' like a fuckin' maniac. "Just couldn't find the right spot. Felt uncomfortable, like I was missin' somethin'."  
>"Oh."<p>

"How'd ya know?"

"I-I heard commotion in your room last night is all. I was kept awake myself." That's all she says, that's all that's mentioned of me not havin' a normal sleep. An awkward cliffhanger where I feel like Gams has more information on her radar that she's keepin' from me for some reason.

One final clampin' to my spine later, Gams is immediately on the puttin' me back together bandwagon. "Luckily, the anesthetic can help seal your skin up quickly. Allow it five or so minutes and we can remove the stitches."  
>I inhale deeply, finally able to fully relax. "Thank. You. So. Frickin'. Much." I smile at her widely. "Desperately needed that."<p>

"Glad to be of service. Thank you for the repairs to my arms," she tells me. "I'm grateful to have you as a friend."  
>Don't ask where the weird warm feelin' inside'a me comes from in that moment. I guess just hearin' those words is a lil' flusterin'. "Yeah? Well it was a damn fun time for me, I'd say." I obviously seem like I ain't flustered at all. "Glad it all worked out. Ya need anything else like that that I can help with after I'm sealed shut?"<p>

She thinks for a moment. "Just one question," Gamora demands.

"Yeah?"

"Just one box of… necessary materials, one of that size, for the two of us," she gestures with a nod in the direction of the box, "cost us 14,000 units?"

I grin. "Well, can't say I didn't buy stuff for a gun and bombs to match. Just had 'em wrapped with the thruster components so Quill wouldn't ask no questions."

Gamora gives a laugh at that. "Of course. That should've been expected from you. Conniving, but smart."  
>"Hey," I say with a cocky snarkiness, "it's me. Whaddaya gonna expect from a trigger-happy gun-nut loser like myself?"<p>

"Nothing less," Gamora says after doin' that thing to my head again, "than what your charming self typically does, Rocket." I laugh at that. "Should I prepare us drinks as you'd requested?"

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah," I say with a fast nod up and down.

Gamora smiles at the excitability in my actions. "I'm heading to the galley. Let the anesthetic work for another few minutes. It looks like it's nearly finished up. Also, after the drink, you said you'd like a massage, right?" I open my mouth to protest, but Gamora speaks first. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours." She strides out of the room smoothly as I wait for the next three minutes of healin' to pass by quickly.

And for whatever reason, that dumb, mushy gushy, cheesy warm feelin' is back in my chest.

"Too good t'me, god dammit."

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>somelittlemonster<span>: Talkin' ape named Skrunge - Reference to another thing featurin' a fuzzy dude with guns. Minor, stupid comment from Rocket.**_

_**Amalya - Reference to Rocket Raccoon #1-4 by Skottie Young. Female character who leads a brigade of Rocket's exes to kill him. No intention of bringing her in since she was just a snatch and grab for Rocket and Groot in this story.**_

_**As for the surgery bit, I legit struggled sooooo hard with actually deciding what each of them were havin' work done on. Gamora's bit was easier to write buuuuuuuut Rocket's wasn't so simple. Problem is I wanted to do a ton of different things but his spine seemed like the best bet.**_

_**Heard from somewhere that James Gunn'd said the dickweeds at Halfworld 'broke his spine' and reconstructed it so he can walk upright. Figured there needed to be some sort of metal holdin' it upright. Annnnd that's where those parts come in.**_

_**Initially more surgical shit was gonna go down but I figured such heavy surgery isn't exactly probable before a mission like they're about to have.**_

_**Annnnnnnd now we wait in suspense for whatever's to come next!**_


	8. And then there was one

_**division-ten: Oh, man. Somelittlemonster is going to hate me again. I am a terrible human being.**_

* * *

><p>I flexed my fingers, testing Rocket's work. I certainly had grown to know my own form well, and thankfully the repairs I'd needed were just to my enhanced touch. If it had been something more serious, deeper, where I needed to cut past that dermal layer, I don't think Rocket could have done it.<p>

Blood.

Sure, mine is a deep fern-green, and that might have helped, but the smell would likely have set him off something fierce.

Still, hearing the light hum of servos, signifying the return of my enhanced senses to full capacity- Rocket was clean and efficient.

There would have to be a way to desensitize him to bodily fluids and medical instruments, though. If I were unconscious, he'd likely be the best surgeon on the ship by a wide margin- though Groot was surprisingly good at the medicine side of playing doctor. Maybe I should have let him poke around longer, just to get used to the idea.

Hm, I thought, as I realized I'd walked myself to the galley. Drinks, yes?

I found two of the largest fancy glasses **_someone_** swiped from that bar back on Drotta, and raided the cabinets. Something fruity, mixed.

Some blackfruit juice in the cold storage, a tin of canned pico fruits. Orange rock sugar. Vanilla liquor. Powdered citric acid from the vitamin cabinet to offset the sweet.

I set the cooking stovetop to high, put water to boil, and added sugar. Stirred, thickened, killed the heat. **_Someone_** was behind me, observing, and it wasn't Rocket. He'd always make that little sniffing noise if there were food.

I added the simple syrup, juice, and acid to a cocktail shaker, leaving the alcohol on the counter.

"Are you going to float it?" **_Peter_**. Ah. In hindsight, it made a lot of sense. Cook something new, and Drax would start running, but he didn't hold an interest in mixed drinks.

"Yes," I replied, moving over slightly so he could watch. "It will be easier to measure that way, as well."

He frowned. "But this is a drink, not a shot. It's probably better to mix it in."

Of course he'd know.

"Oh, and, if you're going to do this, you might as well salt the glasses. Or sugar, in this case," he added, flipping both upside down into the remaining simple syrup, then directly into the bag of rock sugar, creating a ring of hot orange around the top of each glass. It was… elaborate. He took a spoon into the syrup and ran it along the inside bottom of each glass, and the orange liquid began to pool in the bottom, gradating back to clear as it went further up.

"Are you… trying to help me seduce Rocket or something?"

"If you're going to make fancy-ass girly drinks," he said, holding out the sugar-laced spoon an inch from my face, "do it right. It's a mockery to us drunks otherwise. Also, I needed a break from cleaning the head. We really need something to keep long black hair and raccoon fuzz from clogging the drain. And, weirdly enough, there were quite a few small tendrils this time around. I didn't think Groot ever used the tub, he usually uses the shower, and it's more for him getting rained on."

I rolled my eyes. "You were bored from menial labor."

"Well, that, and the ship's going to be way too quiet for the next few days. I shouldn't have left yesterday. I really can't handle this planet's gravity, and my thrusters couldn't either. They're meant for Xandarian levels or less. Maybe, when I get them back…" Peter sing-songed the last word, holding out a note in anticipation.

"So you're just trying to wring a favor from me…" I replied with a grin. "Of course I'll ask Rocket for you. Given what he's purchased, I would not have put it past him to have already thought about that."

"How toxic are we making these?" Peter asked, as he fished out a second shaker.

"A small buzz for Rocket… and I cannot become inebriated, so enough for me to taste the vanilla is fine."

"Then we don't need to worry about splitting these. A jigger between the two of you should be enough." He put away the second shaker, and took out a small metal measuring device, with hollows of different sizes on each end, pouring the liquor into the larger cavity, then down into my own shaker. I capped it, shook vigorously, then carefully poured the drinks evenly in the two glasses. With the syrup dying the bottom of each, the color changed from orange to black, as the liquid got closest to the top. I went to open the pico tin, but Peter stopped me again.

"Use the ones we have in the freezer. It'll keep the drinks cold without diluting them."

I did as he suggested, carefully floating three tiny fruits in each glass.

"Thank you for the instruction, Peter," I replied when finished, looking at the intricate creation.

"No prob. Trying to get Rocket a little tipsy before surgery?"

"After, actually, we've both finished. I left him to heal while the anesthetic seals the entryway."

"Sheish. How did you drug him then? Sleeping pills? A minor opioid?"

"Other than the topical spray… I didn't?" I replied. He had to work on me, too."

"Shit," Peter replied, eyes wide as I fished for a tray to safely bring the drinks belowdecks. "No way. I had to knock him unconscious to fix his spine on that mission back on Tuc- you and Drax weren't there, were you? Even Groot's had to drug him just to realign his shoulder before. That's some A-level trust right there."

"What can I say? I'm a very good Skrull," I replied, flicking Peter in the ear.

"Ow, hey," he grumbled. "It was a legitimate concern."

"Which is why I only flicked your ear and did not dismember you," I replied, securing the drinks and some gelatin candies topped with frothed cream to the tray.

* * *

><p>Rocket was still naked and prostrate on the bed, perking his ears and nose up at my entry. "Shit, sugar, ya didn't need to take it so literal," he stated. I pulled my sliding desk out of the wall, putting down the tray on it and checked Rocket's back.<p>

"Eyes shut, stay still," I chided, as I pulled out my surgeon's scissors from their sterilized casing and cut out the stitches I'd done. I put them back in their packaging to sterilize again. "Okay, done. No scarring, either. And it looks like some of your old wounds are less pronounced under the fur. I'm going to try and work out some of the tension in your shoulders, now, so just relax."

"Didn't think you'd actually follow through," he mumbled into the sheet.

"Well, I was planning on pestering Peter as I normally do to remove the knots forming in my own back, but I'll accept it from you in exchange."

"IwastooheavywerntI… FUCK." Rocket's tail shot straight up as I applied pressure to his tricep.

"Too much?" I asked, releasing my finger from the spot. "And no, you were not too heavy. I was lifting deadweights with Drax this morning and overexerted myself."

"Too… goddam… good…" he grunted. "Groot's not bad, but damn. You and Drax both. I shoulda said that I yell. It helps, but I really can't stay calm or nuttin'."

"Just a moment, then," I replied, as I pulled out my pad and a small scent warmer. Candles were a bad idea on a spaceship, but this unit just warmed oils to release smells. I didn't know if they would overpower Rocket's nose, but it was worth a try to put him at ease. I set the device to a dry, mild, wood scent and turned on some drone noises. His tail quickly went limp, and Rocket adjusted himself on the bed, grunting a little. A purr?

"Better?" I asked as I started up again. He squeaked in reply, and snuggled- **_snuggled, that was hilarious_**- into the sheets. After thirty minutes, I broke the near-silence that had only been punctuated by the drone and his light purr.

"Do you… want your tail done as well?" He blinked his eyes a few times.

"Don'. That's a **_bad_** idea," he mumbled. He hadn't fallen asleep, but he'd definitely hit a comfortable place.

I nodded, instead handing him a washcloth, which was towel sized for him, commanding him to flip over as I faced away. For the most part, his body structure was similarly humanoid, his shoulders now a ball-and-socket joint instead of his wild brethren's scapula, hips closer to a humanoid male's like Peter or Drax's. I wasn't touching his tail, but his hands, feet, and head were going to be a challenge.

"You're going to have to give me a hand, here," I said. "I'm not familiar with your anatomical extremities, and I do not wish to give you discomfort. How would you prefer I do your face and paws?"

"Nothin' too close to my eyes, don' touch my nose, nothin' in my ears, and don' rub off the callouses on my paws," he replied, as he settled his back into the bed. I heard the discs in his lower back hum in adjustment. Carefully, I lifted a paw between my thumb and forefinger, and found the muscle between his thumb and palm, gently applying pressure. His fingers closed around my two, and the purring resumed.

"I'm surprised you **_can_** purr," I said, before realizing the misspeak. Rocket did not really like to be reminded of his origins. "Sorry."

"They didn't mess in my throat too much, if at all," he replied, to my surprise. "My voicebox's where your uvula is, jus' back a' my mouth, wired d'rectly to my brain. Works remotely, too, t' a point."

"So moving your mouth… it's faked?"

"Ya catch on fast," Rocket replied, this time his lips remained still as he spoke. It was jarring, to say the least. "People was scared 'nuffa me as-is. Pete already knows, course Groot does too. Guess I might's well tell Drax, too, yeah?"

I finished the last paw and he sighed out, too elated to move. I looked at his face, trying to figure out what to do, before setting on scratching him under the chin.

"Oh, hey, c'mon, that just ain't fair," he whined, one of his legs cycling in overdrive.

I stopped immediately, releasing my hand, displaying both in his view.

He blinked.

"Ya… ya actually stopped," he said, sitting up, letting his tail poof up behind him.

"You asked me to."

"Most people don' listen or nuttin'."

"Am I most people?"

He took two fingers of my hand between his forepaws and squeezed gently. "No ya ain't."

* * *

><p>He'd slipped back on his work coveralls, and we clinked glasses.<p>

"To being rich," Rocket said, as he leaned into the first sweet, fruity sip.

"No Rocket, you must refrain from saying that which is untrue. To being **_extraordinarily_** rich."

"That's more like it. Shit, Gams, this is somethin' else."

"Thank Peter. I would have used canned pico and he did this trick with the simple syrup and sugar on the glass rim."

"You mixed the drink though?"

"I just hunted for what might taste good together."

"Bah," he added, draining the rest. "Garnishes are garnishes. And canned pico is in gelatin. I could see this as some sorta boozy dessert."

"You do have quite the sweet tooth, Rocket."

"Yeah, and scratchin' that particular itch gets paid n' kind. Shirt off, Gams, and on your back. Norm'lly I'd say wait, but ya don't process alcohol. Also, how much weight can that riggin' handle?" he added, pointing to the canopy bed rig built into the ceiling.

I stood on the bed and looked at the manufacturer's label.

"Thirty kilo."

"More than enough, then. Take down the nettin' but leave the ropes up."

"Okaaaay…" I said, trailing off and complying, before stripping off my camisole.

"Eh, uh, wow, sugar. I didn't need you doin' that in front'a me. But, uh, not gonna say no."

"You did not specify," I said simply, as I prostrated myself on the bed. Rocket hopped up on my back and pulled on the loose rope from the canopy, seemingly embarrassed.

"Okay, good, stable. Gonna walk on yer back now, Gams. If it's too much, say somethin'."

"Something?" I asked.

"Har dee har, super funny." Rocket took two steps forward, shifting his weight down on my shoulderblades, kneading with his feet.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, Rocket rolled off my back, and I stood up.<p>

"Better or worse n, Peter?" he asked.

"Different. You can't put as much pressure on certain things, but you found spots on me he's missed. How did you even learn how to do that?"

"Let's just say that it was a better alternative to some 'a my other possible roles 'n prison." He quickly looked down and away. "Yanno, we still have some time, and Pete's on dinner duty. Let's get his thrusters fixed up so he can leave t'ship."

"You share the same concern that something bad is going to happen."

"Call it animal instinct," he grumbled, as he left my room for the cargo bay. "Hey, Groot, buddy, couldja move the box up to our room?" he added, yelling into the hallway.

"I am Groot," came his reply from behind their closed door.

"That is a…?"

"Notttin' doin'. Says he's cleanin'. Not an issue, I have the tools I need down there anyway."

Absentmindedly, I ruffle the fur on his head again as we descend to the galley, then quickly pull back.

"Wait, no, that's notta problem," he said, as he jumped up on the crate to slice open the packing tape with a claw.

"Just under the chin?"

He looks at me, eye level with the crate underneath him, and sighs, putting his forefingers in the corners of his mouth and pulling slightly to show me his lower jaw before quickly releasing. "My scent markers. Touch me there too much, and ya start smellin' like me. Gams, ya ain't my property. I don' like that idea."

I held my forearm out to him, the one he'd just fixed. "Rocket, I am already marked by Thanos."

"Well, we'll have to fix that, then, sugar, won't we?" he replied, after looking between me and my outstretched arm. He pulled, and rubbed the side of his muzzle all along the inside of my forearm, back and forth. "It might take a little time," he added, fixing the fur on the side of his face that had flattened, "but eventually, we'll replace every last bit of Thanos in there. Pete'll probably do some, Groot could too. We'll teach Drax somethin' simple so he don' feel left out. But I'll make sure all the vitals are better'n before, ya hear?"

"That's a promise you'd better keep. I think I'm catching something deadly from your saliva," I huffed, wiping my arm along the top of his head.

"Scent. Gland," he playfully corrected, as he sliced away the last of the tape.

* * *

><p>"Hol' this," he grunted, as we worked through Peter's second thruster. He really was tearing the thing apart, right down to the core. I held the miniature gravity adjustment pack in place, as he soldered three wires between its connectors and the other parts of the mechanism. "The only thing I ain't touchin' is the actual sustained ignition system. That's what makes these things so fuckin' expensive. That and labor."<p>

"That device you just wired in will allow Peter to walk around outside?"

"Float, really, but he'll still be weak. Even raisin' his arm is gonna put serious strain on him. This is really a last resort kinda thing," he replied, moving my finger out of the way to install an independent power source. "He should do some high grav trainin', that'll really be the only thing that could help 'im in these kinda environs. Or go under the knife a bit. But I wouldn't wish that on anybody." He frowned, tail curled in on itself in deep concentration. "Get me the remote relay from the box, if ya could. Should be labeled."

I stood up, peering into the large box. Half the contents were already gone, despite Peter's thrusters being the size of my fist. Most of the parts Rocket was using were being gutted from other, larger things, everything from children's remote-controlled toys to kitchen appliances. Only a few very specific items were machine parts and parts alone.

I pulled out the plastic wrapped component, spying something particularly strange just underneath. On the box was a smiling stuffed lizard. I pulled it out. Voiceboxes for plush toys?

"Why didn't you just buy parts?" I asked, handing him the relay while I turned the box of plush toy components around in my hands.

"Look here," he said, waving his hand over the remaining gutted materials, pointing to a remote controlled spaceship. "How much do ya think this cost?"

"Something that nice? A thousand units."

"Close. Eight hundred. It's a really good miniature. I bought it for the remote control, which contains a HX battery, directional servos, rotors, and three different relays, one I need for the thrusters and the other two I have… let's say 'special uses' earmarked for 'em. The model ship itself has another rechargeable battery in a standard size, a charging stand, a motion sensor t' prevent it from crashing into a tree, and a gravity adjustment pack. The ship hull is a good alloy I might be able t' reuse, too, but I don't buy crap for 'might be able t' use'. How much would that stuff cost me to buy separate, since I ain't gettin' the kinds of deals ya might if you owned a machine repair shop?"

"I'm going to guess a lot more."

"Bingo, sugar. When you was as poor as I used t' be, ya learn to improvise. I only buy separate machine parts like this remote relay if I don't need the other bits from a consumer product, somethin' goin' inside me for the obvious sanitary reasons, or if it's actually cheaper on its own. It definitely helps that the same bits I needed to fix Peter's thrusters come pre-bundled," he said, pointing to the toaster oven, the plasma torch, and the portable projector unit, "with some nice stuff to make at least three new plasma rifles."

"You frighten me."

"I'll take that as a compliment. What else ya pull from there, Gams?"

I held out the toy voiceboxes.

"Hah, good. Those'll last me 'bout six months, maybe a year if I'm lucky. That's my one exception to the 'goin' inside me' rule. Market-medical voiceboxes are infinitely more expensive, and, in our line'a work, just as likely to get smashed. That box'a twenty was eighty units. I just need t' wire them up to interface with my thoughts, and that's all expertise."

"Your voice is supplied by a… a toy meant for infants?"

"Oy, don't go rubbin' it in. Gimmie." He held his arms out in a grabbing motion, and I passed him the box. "The **_former parts of a toy meant for infants_**," he corrected, as he sliced open the package with his nail and pulled out one of the units, ripping it out of its white bag. He pulled bits and pieces from the gutted electronics around him, working deftly with his hands. In twenty minutes, he handed me a small device the size of my thumb.

"Testin', testin'" he said, and two simultaneous voices, one his own, coming from his mouth, and another cute, high-pitched voice from the tiny device in my hand. "Good, workin' as it should," both voices said in unison. "Jus' need to reprogram the sound quality on that one, but I already wrote a program for it. Run up n' give it t' Groot, wouldja? I can finish up here, Peter's stuff shouldn't take more than ten more minutes."

"How far away does this still work?" I asked.

"As far as a comms, so, yeah. **_Far_**. Like, **_can talk from other planets_** far. But it ain't a two way street. This is my **_voice_**, not a true comms. I can't hear outta it. The extra parts'd make the device too big t' fit comfortably at the back'a my mouth. Only things I can do from it remotely are talk, 'n," he paused for a moment, "turn it on n' off," he finished, now with only his 'real' voice, the one in the pitch I was familiar with, inside his body, saying the end of the sentence. The one in my hand was silent.

"Basically, you're your own ventriloquist," I replied, turning the tiny voicebox over in my fingers. "Could you make them in our voices?"

"That woud've involved tellin' everyone that this is how I actually talk," he replied, a bit sheepish. "But I guess so. I could see some interestin' uses for it. At the very least, it'd be good for a prank," he added, with a wink. "Go, I'll finish up here n' dump the remnants in a corner. Oh, n' hold onto it when Groot's done."

I ruffled his fur as I turned to leave, hearing a deep purr as he flicked my hand away.

"Like to **_not_** get my paws coated in hot solder today, thanks, sugar."

* * *

><p>After dinner that night, another excellent dish of Peter's, I retreated to my own quarters to prepare for the morning. Blade sharpening, blaster alignments, diagnostic on my HUD and comms.<p>

I took the finished voicebox in my hands, trying to determine what to do with it. It wasn't an expensive piece of equipment, but Rocket was quite literally trusting me with his ability to speak. Or a backup thereof.

It was small enough to fit into the outside portion of my ear canal, but that wasn't the most sanitary option, even after Groot had returned it to me reprogrammed, irradiated, and shrink wrapped. I settled on sticking it in a brownish-blue luck-sachet from Knowhere, which was on a thin cord that could go around my neck.

The kite cutting could wait; I needed sleep. I shed the day's clothing, and put on a nightdress, rolling into bed, looking up.

The canopy was still detached.

I sighed, sat up, and began the annoying task of refitting the gauze to the ropes and hooks. One foot on the bed, and another precariously leaning into the wall for stability…

A knock at the door, of course.

"Ey Gams."

"**_Busy, Rocket_**. Just hang… aaaaah!" I cried, as I twisted my ankle, and tumbled down, wrapping myself in a tangle of gauze and hooks like an uncomfortable cocoon. "Fuck."

"I am Groot," came Groot from behind, as the door slid open.

"Sorry," Rocket said. "Groot, you mind helpin' out here?"

Groot lifted me straight into the air and planted be back on my feet, and gently unwrapped the gauze.

"I am Groot," he says with finality, as he begins hooking the bits back in place all at once with his tendrils.

"I would'a translated that he's gonna help, but I think ya figured that out."

Once I was free, I squatted down to talk to him in the eye.

"What did you need?"

"I… ah… well…"

"I am Groot." Groot admonished sharply, as he finished restringing the canopy. Rocket slowly began to back out of my quarters, but Groot caught him, lifting him up in the air, and then settling him on my back.

"Fuck. The bath, the suit, now **_this_**?"

"I **_am_** Groot." Groot frowned slightly, before leaving the room.

"Iwannastaythenight," he mumbled.

"You want to…?"

"Stay with ya tonight. Ya… warmer than sleepin' in my own space.

"Clothes on this time?"

"Not gonna live that down, am I?"

"Eventually, if you are lucky," I replied, standing up with him still clinging gingerly to my shift. I backed up over my bed, and he hopped off.

"Couldja do wht you did earlier? With the music 'n stuff?"

"I usually do. It was just **_extenuating circumstances_** three nights ago," I joked, as I turned on the oil and drones. "Is there room for me in there," I asked as I turned around to see him stretching out as far as he could diagonally across the mattress.

"Jus' not used to sleepin' lyin' down."

"Then I guess I need to show you."

* * *

><p>Sometime, in the middle of the night, I felt the cold brush of Him upon me, prickling the back of my neck and leaving icy waves upon the exposed circuitry in my face.<p>

And then, the soft, warm brush of fur. Rocket moved his snout long my arm, leaving behind a glimmering wet trail of saliv- **_scent gland fluid._**

He was far too good to me.

"Thanos don't own you no more," he mumbled. "Go back t' sleep."

* * *

><p>Rocket wasn't in my cabin when I awoke, but traces of his presence were still there, particularly the slight tackiness on my arm. I took a quick shower in the adjoining head, and put on tactical, but visible clothing. Drax, Groot, and I were to walk with our client, B'hark Charif, a scrawny looking, yellow-scaled, local Silurian male, sit through his negotiations over the next few days, and make sure nothing bad occurred. Rocket was to take to the rooftops, and provide cover to and from the meetings, lunches, and other events.<p>

B'hark, as Peter had motioned, was a Kree supporter, and very publicly providing money to Kree organizations that tangentially had ties back to Ronan. Whether or not this translated to him actually funding the Kree-Xandarian war was unknown, and, were he **_that_** kind of supporter, he had a list of war-crimes to his name to answer to by proxy.

He and his security staff knew very well who we were. Why he'd even accept our help without question was a pretty sure sign of a trap.

The whole thing reeked of setup, but I couldn't put a finger on what it was particularly that stood out as strange.

No, I **_could_**.

It was so very obviously a trap. It was essentially screaming as such.

Which meant…

"Hey Gams, eat," Rocket said, nudging me. He was dressed in surprisingly light, sandy colors, stiff laser-resistant clothing leaving just the top knuckles on his fingers and toes, his snout, and his eyes exposed. He'd blend well against the local architecture.

"Su- sure." Peter had gone to great lengths to make us all an elaborate breakfast. The next four nights were going to be very quiet for him on the ship.

"So, whatcha gonna do with the bachelor pad while we're out?" Rocket grunted, pointing his spoon at Peter.

"I hope you do not plan on turning our shared home into Jackson Pollack's Second Masterpiece," I added in, quietly slapping hands with Rocket for the joke under the table.

"Binge on Netpix and ice cream," Peter replied, grinning, to our surprise. "Drax obviously doesn't think I'm fat enough."

"Small friend, might I suggest you taking some time upon our return to repair Peter's translation chip? It obviously is not functioning as intended."

* * *

><p>"I need out."<p>

"**_What?!_**" cried Drax.

"I. Need. Out." B'hark enunciated each word slowly. The few men and women in the cramped meeting space looked on in anticipation. "My daughter was kidnapped two years ago by Ronan's supporters to extort money from me. Everyone here," he said, sweeping a scaled hand, "is an officer of our domestic secret service. Unfortunately, with our society's historic ties to the Kree, I've been backed into a literal corner. Our government has been trying to placate them- especially now that the hardliners have fragmented without Ronan keeping them all under the same banner. These meetings were supposed to be an ambush to kidnap you all, with the other party being these," he added, pointing back to the officers, "set-up supporters. Thankfully, our new government is just as sick of being bullied around by the Kree as I am."

"It was too obviously rigged as a set-up," I replied, nodding. "Although I had figured you lured us here to force us to kidnap you for a ransom or something similar. This is a far more complex issue than I anticipated."

"You knew?" Drax asked, eyebrow raised.

"I did not. But I can smell something behind another from my years of experience." **_This was wrong. Very wrong. _**For now, I bit my tongue. I wasn't sure what to believe now- this was complicated and layered. We were in for deep trouble in about five minutes or less- no self-respecting secret service officer would provide information like that so freely. Were we being triple crossed? **_What did B'hark really even have to gain with the continuous layers of obfuscation?_**

He was obviously using it to hide something from plain sight. What could it be?

"From what I've seen of you all," B'hark responded, "you were either too stupid enough and would come because of the high salary, or smart enough to see the ruse."

**_We were on a planet with gravity too strong for Peter; he could be ambushed in the ship._**

**_Wait, no, he's _****_in the ship_****_. If anyone were safe, it would be him._**

"I am not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered," Drax replied. "So I will remain neutral until otherwise indicated."

**_Did he want Drax, Groot, or I?_**

**_He wouldn't have kept us together. At the very least, he would have isolated Groot. He's too strong._**

"Hey, guys," Rocket said over the comms. "How's the weather in there?" **_Is it okay to talk freely?_**

"Couldn't be clearer," Drax responded. **_We can._**

**_No. No Drax, we can't. That's not what B'hark's after. The carnival incident, too. That was a distraction. There was one person they were trying to separate out from our team. Just one._**

"Eh, I've seen worse," I butted in. **_Keep it to coded phrases._**

"What is that?" B'hark asked.

"Just Rocket, checking in," I replied. I couldn't do much from here, they already had everyone where they wanted us.

B'hark bowed his head, after a moment. "I **_am_** sorry. I truly am. But it was my daughter, or your team-mate." Every person aside from Drax, Groot, and I disappeared.

**_Hard-light holograms_**. They weren't even here to begin with.

I swallowed deeply. "Come on," I said, as I bolted for the exit. "They've taken Rocket. And I think I know who **_'they'_** might be."

"Not the Kree?" Drax asked, as he kept pace.

"I am Groot."

"I think we just got duped by Halfworld."

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Start the main engines, Peter, now.<em>**"

"I just saw a red and black ship leave port. Is that who we're chasing?" Peter replied casually on the comm line.

"How many times have you blasted O-o-oh Child? You must be going deaf. Start the engines." **_That's probably a diversion. Start the engines._**

"Roger that, Gamora."

* * *

><p>"How good is cloaking?" I demanded, as the three of us entered the ship.<p>

"Nova game us military grade," Peter replied, serious, the ship already prepared to fly.

"Good. We're going to get into intergalactic airspace, fire our jump, and cloak, then turn around and come right back to Demura."

"You think Rocket is still here?"

"I would bet my life on…"

"Hey, Gams," came a muffled voice from my neck. I opened the pouch and took out Rocket's spare voicebox. "Hope ya can hear me. They already shattered my voice and muzzled me, 'n sprayed something weird, so I can't smell shit."

"Rocket!" Peter cried.

"He can't hear you," I replied. "This is one-way. And start flying."

We all hurriedly snapped ourselves in for the very short ride as Peter flew us into the upper atmosphere.

"Hey, Gams, if 's just ya, relay to everyone else. If you're all here, listen. I'm underground somewheres. I can't hear much but my ear fluid feels funny so it's pretty deep. 'S dark. Definitely m-m- medical facility. Ugh, fuck. They ain't touched me yet, but I really do not like where this's goin'."

I clutched the tiny voicebox to my chest, and Groot reached out and put a hand over my own, as Peter turned on cloaking and dove us straight back to Demura.

"I am Groot."

"We're coming for you, Rocket."

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>division-ten<span>: The drink Gamora is making is a Party of One, or the closest approximation based on what I would assume they had access to in space.**_

_**Also Halfworld docs. Because something from Rocket's and Gamora's past is going to have to come back and bite them all in the ass.**_


	9. Then a remarkable discovery was made

_**somelittlemonster: This is the biggest plot twist of my entire life and one of the instances in which divisionten knew what to expect from my chapter. We talked it over coz it was one of the biggest plot points in the story and this seemed like not only a good opportunity to introduce what we're gonna introduce, but the only logical way of goin' about it.**_

_**Things look bad at first but they get better.**_

_**No one dies or nothin' but there is a lil' bit'a...**_

* * *

><p>"-I really don't like where this's goin'."<p>

I can't strain myself no more. So for the time bein', I leave my cry for help at that. It's hurtin' my head and I really don't need to put myself under even more stress since I am where I am and that's as stressful as ever. I hate this place.

AKA: Fuckin' Hell.

Dark. Real dark. Hard for me, of all the being's in the galaxy, keen eyesight 'n' all, to even see my hand in front'a me. Well, I mean, it'd be hard for me to see it if I could even reach it to my face. Can't do that with my arms bound the way they are.

Flat, hard, metal on my back. Like a stretcher, but not as comfortable as one. Course those ain't exactly the best things to be layin' on at all, so this is about thirteen times worse.

It's hard to breathe. Maybe it's got somethin' t' do with the muzzle clampin' my jaw shut, the tight, curved, metal restraints that press hard across my chest and stomach, with smaller clamps wrapped around my wrists, my ankles, and my neck.

Can't smell.

Can't talk.

Can just barely breathe.

I'm stripped (yet again. This naked thing is really gettin' too prominent…), my outfit for keepin' myself covered somewhere that I won't be able to find even if I try.

Can't move.

And it's medical. Just… f-fantastic.

It's like home sweet home, minus the cage.

And by home sweet home I mean **not a fuckin' home, not fuckin' sweet, not a fuckin' place I wanna be in any way, shape, form, idea, or any other word that can replace those four words previously mentioned**.

**Keep ya head steady. Don't panic. Just-**

Above my head, somethin' flickers and I look at it with a shudder. Either it's 'bout to blow or gonna light the place up for a change.

Does the second one.

Rather be the first than sit in medical facility hell.

Oh, yeah, about that… I kinda forgot about the fact that medical facilities are filled with a few things I don't exactly like. The color white, for one, and two? The instruments and tools that file themselves into my life and quite literally tear me up just to leave me alone again.

The light just really emphasizes that last bit. Only knew it was medical coz I could smell the sickenin' stench of anesthetic in the air just before they… sprayed whatever in my face. But I couldn't see shit. Thought for a sec I was blindfolded but that ain't the case. I kinda presume it's just from that same spray that's numbin' my sense'a smell.

It's medical. It's a fact that my brain just accepted at first.

But seein' it… really ain't that good for me. I can't accept that, I can't be calm about that.

IV (thankfully not hooked up to a certain person's arm) on the left, active, light above my head, silver, kinda rusty table I'm strapped to...

And then I really see the worst part.

To my right's a cart, and the top is just covered in little bastards starin' at me with a silver, sharp gleam.

**Sh-Sh-Shit**.

Scalpels. Too many. Way too many for just little old me.

Think that's a drill. Hope they don't-

**Fuck**.

Buzzsaw. Not-Not-Not fun. Not cool, not-

Syringe. Not gon' use it coz they never did fill me up with nov-

Danger. Danger. Danger.

That's all I hear in my brain, like an alarm with a red flashin' light goin' off with it. God dammit, I'm fuckin' freaked out. Not scared 'r cryin', but I'm freaked the fuck out at the sight'a-

I gotta get outta here.

I pull hard at my wrists and they don't budge for shit. Ankles? Same situation. Movin' my neck's hardly possible. Same goes for the rest'a me.

Quite literally stuck in some seriously deep shit.

Wonder if I'll actually see what the weather's like up there sometime soon.

"Escape isn't quite possible, the way you're pinned down" I hear somethin' say. It takes me off guard, and I look in the darkened corner'a the room.

For a split second, I swear I see a white coat.

But nope. I get this ugly son of a gun. Thankfully, may I add?

But just coz I'm thankful he's an ugly frickin' bastard and not some scientist comin' to gimme yet another vivisection, I still snarl like a violent, sick animal.

This is B'hark, I assume, with his disgustin' lookin' yellow skin, nasty lookin' reptilian eyes. Think I'm kinda sick 'n' tired of these weird ass species. Rayjacks and now whatever the fuck this idiot is.

I wanna bite his fingers off. He's close enough to the table, just at my right side, that I'd be able to snap my jaw 'round one'a his disgusting lookin' appendages, rip it off, and laugh coz the urge to do it's just burnin' up.

"Of course you won't let up." Nope. Correct observation. I'm a twenty thousand man army resistance in the form of sharp nails, sharper teeth, a smart mouth, and a tail. Ya think I'mma go down just coz ya told me to and you're a moron. "That should be expected from something of your caliber."

There's an implication there, but I can't elicit my usual response of "Suck a fat one, ya big, ugly bastard!"

I swear he laughs (this man's fuckin' nuts and he's just **askin' for it**) as I pull harder at the restraints. "See, you're interesting. As a specimen-"

I stop pullin' when I see him edge his way over to the platter of destruction and carefully inspect one'a those sharp little bastards.

"-as a creation." I swallow hard. The way he's holdin' it, so precariously, like it's a delicate, pansy-ass flower… it's fucked up. Treatin' somethin' that cuts and stabs and rips things up like it's perfection. "You are perfect for this… exchange."

**Exchange? Exchange? Exchange? What?**

I must have a look in my eye coz he says, "I see that look in your eye. Fear. Confusion."

He's wrong. It's called **PANIC**.

B'hark shuffles closer, this time his entire fist wrappin' around the handle of the tool tightly. "Oh, that's right. You don't understand. You weren't there when I explained to that imbecile, piece of kindling, and that bitch-"

I'd start screamin' if I could. So I just thrash, growl, everything that is in my ability coz I don't wanna hear anything like-

**Schling**. It's right in front'a my face now, literally just a centimeter away from stabbin' into the tip'a my nose.

That's when I actually start breathin' a little heavier, tense up quite a bit, focus on the sharp point that's right. Fuckin'. There. H-Head steady. Gotta relay to Gams again soon. Keep calm. Can't panic.

"-that you are a part of my payoff so I may have my daughter," he says that last word through clenched, yellowing teeth, and pounds hard on the table, "out of the Kree's hands sooner than later. And you, my friend, are quite the perfect… experiment to seal the deal."

I would thrash out again at him but that fucked up toy in his hand's pokin' at the metal bits on my chest, tappin' lightly in the dim lights of the room. Just a little to the right and it'll be on my skin. On the real, physical, biological me. "I do very much despise the Kree, possibly far more than you can imagine. However, I do need the money to keep the Kree off of our backs for a while longer, and to get one step closer to having my daughter returned to me." He smiles at that, a grin that says he knows somethin' I don't know.

And that something? Well…

B'hark begins slowly, finally backin' away from my face with the tool, "And no, I'm not handing you over to the Kree as payment. I'm handing you over for payment." Slave work?

No, wait. I was brought to this spot, this medical… thing, for a reason.

"And my employers? Well, I do believe they are some old companions of yours from the Keystone Quadrant-"

**Oh shit. No, stop, no, pause, wait, no no no no n-**

"-on a little place called Halfworld?"

Deafening silence. Terribly deafening silence.

No.

That-That ain't right.

B'hark just stares blankly at me for another moment. "Ten minutes time, they'll all shuffle in. I offered to have you shipped to them but they were so excited at the prospect of you being here. Hopefully your friends, so called, took the bait." The sound of his leathery shoes padding toward the exit, presumably in the corner, calling over his shoulder with a laugh, "I appreciate your donation."

And in that moment, all this floods through my head.

**Back. They're back. Gon' do some-some shit. Gonna die here. Gonna die in the-the dark of this-gonna die in-in-how'm I s'pposed to get Groot here and-Gams better've heard me or I'm gonna be fuckin- Torn apart. Again and-and those idiots prob'bly didn't-didn't-haul ass to get here. Fuckin'-fuckin'-voice box 'n' shit...**

**No no no no. We ain't doin' this again.**

And even though I really am scared as all fuck that I'm 'bout to have my entire life brought to an end, I gotta plan. A stupid plan that I've done once in the past and am 'bout to do again.

Stupid plan, but if I wanna escape, we gotta do it like prison break number one, AKA: Halfworld.

**Fake it 'til ya make** **it.**

I just hope I can keep myself calm...

* * *

><p>I hear 'em enter through the side, and I keep as still as possible.<p>

I keep my eyes shut, almost like I'm sleepin', but I can feel both of 'em on either side'a the table. I learned to do this back on a planet called Hoven when me 'n' Groot was dealin' with some massive bastards called Svarks. Playin' dead got 'em pretty good, shockingly, and the blood on seepin' into my eye and the unnaturally twisted ankle really did sell the act.

It's just worse coz these guys are… Halfworld's guys. So my urge to not start hyperventalatin' when I hear 'em talkin' is real hard.

"Head says he wants him in the west hall, down this hallway, to the right," says the voice on the left, followed by the sound'a somethin' gettin' touched again and again. Swipe.

It's a tablet, prob'bly full'a data and an outlay of this place as a whole. Perfect. Gonna need that.

"Is it…" It prods me with a gloved finger right in between my ribs, "is it even alive?"

"It… appears to be? I would assume so. There seems to be no reason for Subject 89P1-"

I stop listenin' coz oh my fuckin' god are you for real right now? I just wanna rip out this dude's spine and make Gams a necklace outta it.

It'd be a big necklace, yeah, but still…

"-for a pulse on its wrist?" Lefty decides.** Click**. With the flick of the switch on his side, the restraints all come free, chest ones and all.

And in a flash, I fly off'a the table, growlin' like a madman, claws stretched out and I find my target: right in the eyes! Woo! Damn gross, too, but hey, no sweat off my back. Just lotsa blood on my-

White coat, facemask, gouged eyes, blood, blood-

**Level head, Rocket.**

"What on-"

I tear the muzzle off my face wildly and this time, my claws aren't the only things that find their marks on Righty. Sorry buddy, but I've been itchin' to bite someone since I got down here.

Yes, they're both dead after I'm finished with 'em (don't fuck wit' me when I'm exposed-get feral as hell), but it's Halfworld. I don't c-

**Stop lookin' at that coat. This ain't the same as your first escape, Rocket. Just relax. Find that tablet ya heard**.

In the dim light'a the room, it's hard to miss the bright light from the tablet that's just a few feet away from Lefty's blood-pourin' face. I scramble over and immediately look for the outlay'a this-

There it is. Yes, yes, yes. And so I start talkin' over my voice to the others again, just barely feelin' the connectin 'tween me and the voice box. "Listen carefully, Gams. Gotta be quick. Coordinates are 22158B7. F-Found a-oh, d'ast, hate this place. Bring me some clothes? It's cold. Says there's-there's an entry-entry way just-"

I stop talkin' a second later. At this point my sight's mostly comin' back, and despite the relatively dim lighting all around, I can still see. Smellin' better too. Musty, cold, whatever. But it's not somethin' I smell that stops me, shock grippin' me by the throat and chokin' me 'til I succumb to the surprise and surrender.

Is that… footst-

I barely hear them behind me before somethin' smacks the back'a my head and I'm out cold.

* * *

><p>I don't know how much time's passed when I do come to. Could'a been five minutes, could'a been five hours.<p>

Either way, I'm back in my same predicament, 'cept this time I'm flipped on my stomach with my back exposed. Don't like this much at all. It's worse than the first time I was strapped down, really, coz back there's the place where they…

Y'know? Heavy experimentation's all I wanna say.

I can't see anything but the floor in the dim lighting of the room. I sniff, tryin' to make somethin' out, but there's hardly anything for me to smell still. I can't touch anything since my hands are pinned down…

**I'm fucked.**

They're all around the table now. I can feel 'em lookin' down at me, the sounds of the instruments clangin' together in their sick, twisted hands makin' me ball my hands into fists.

I try to shake my head in protest when I hear one of 'em say, "Standard procedure. Extraction and then put it down. Cut the vitals. If we're going to put it down-"

**Are you fuckin'-**

Hey, uh, guys. Just kinda wanted to let ya know that, the-they're quite literally gonna be, uh… killin' me in a sec? So, uh, if you're hearin' me, can ya hurry it up? I-I-I really don't wanna just-

I stop tryin' to transmit my thoughts. It's hopeless, really.

"Couldn't we just administer a euthanasia drug?" one of 'em suggests.

"We could, but…" **Schkreeeeeeeen**. Drill ringin' in the air. "... this bastard did a number on us once. I'd rather make it as painful for it as possible. It already raised Hell in Room 18-R."

So this is how I'm goin' out. Sufferin', probably bloody when they're through with me, about-

I feel the cold brush of latex fingertips on my bare back. And that's when I fully realize that they really ain't fuckin' around.

Back on that space that was just finally growin' back, the space on my back that used to be completely bare and overexposed to the entire galaxy, where metal jolts out and reminds me of good ol' Halfworld now and then…

They've taken the liberty of goin' off and shavin' it. They really don't fuck around, do they?  
>And maybe I'm just bein' a bitch. Maybe I'm just a crybaby, maybe I'm just thinkin' too hard on this, but I can't help that my breathin' hitches and my throat swells up. It was nice to just, y'know, have somethin' so exposed, so open, so vulnerable for me covered up and mostly forgotten. I should'a known that they'd do it, though. Gams didn't have to coz she ain't a psycho that's gonna treat me like an animal. But these guys? They do everything, anything, to remind ya that ya aren't anything but a labrat in their twisted game.<p>

"It appears the subject has done alterations to his-"

"I don't care," the voice who decided to 'cut my vitals' says, assumably the head bitch in charge, "what it's done to itself."

**It.**

**My name is Rocket? Male? Not an it? Get it?**

"Quit hesitating and put that scalpel in its back right-"

There's a low rumble, suddenly, and everything is still. I can't see what's goin' on but by the clatterin' sound of some poor idiot's nervous hand droppin' their tool to the ground, everyone's shaken.

Again, another one, followed by yellin' from the hallway.

I can't make it out, but it's sayin' somethin', the voice. The yells aren't just yells of triumph and fear and-

The sound of metal crunchin' loudly enters my eardrums, followed by crashing and bolts poppin' outta the walls. Everyone scrambles, but I don't expect any of 'em to even get out the door when I realize what-no, not what-but **who **is in this room.

He is-

**"I am Grooooooot!"**

Yeah, that's who it is.

"Rocket?"

That ain't Groot, though. That's Gams.

I don't know if they can see me in the dark'a this place, since I'm still not a hundred percent sure if it's the shit they sprayed on my face. So I thrash and make as much noise as physically possible.

A moment later, the restraints are released, but I don't move coz I can't. I'm freaked out, almost terrified.

What's pickin' me up? Who is it? Is one of 'em tryin' to make a getaway wit' me? I go stiff, try to weasel my way out, nails diggin' deep into the arms that hold me close. I swear I should be drawin' blood by now but-

"Rocket!" she yells, but not in an angry, bitter way. It's more of a concerned, scared voice. "It's me. I've got you, I've got you. We've got you."

Gams.

Yet again, another incident of me diggin' my frickin' nails into her.

"Can you see? Rocket, can you see?" Gamora sounds just as panicked as I feel.

"B-B-Barely." I'm shocked I manage to even remember Gams had my damn backup voicebox, but it's nice to hear my thoughts relayin' to the thing, but barely. "C-Can't smell. Spray knock-knock-knocked my-" My thoughts aren't in one place. Those things in the pods. I-I-I need to relax. "L-Lights ain't-ain't too bright. I-I-gotta get to 'em. We-We gotta-"

"Rocket, calm down. We're getting you out of here." She yells over her shoulder. "Drax! Pursue B'hark with Groot. Rocket-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" I-my voicebox- cries aloud. All eyes go to me. "We-Just-I need ya to put that b-b-back in me," I say in reference to my voice in Gams' hand.

"Rocket, this isn't the time to-"

"Gamora, p-please listen to me."

Gamora hesitates for a moment before putting me down gently onto my feet. She kneels down on my level, commanding lightly, "Open your mouth." I do so, and in just a few minutes time, my voice is back in business.

"Groot? His clothes."

They actually did get that part. Perfect.

I can't tell what it is at first, only to pull on that damn flightsuit. Great. **Now** Groot wants me to wear the thing.

"Now will you two go search the place out form B'hark? Nova still wants him. Triple the pay?"

The sound of those two lugs beginning their search (what they find is almost disturbing) with a rumble of "I am Groot" and boundin' steps leaves me and Gamora alone in the room.

"G-G-Gonna need to flush out my eyes 'nd nose, Gams," I say. "C-Can barely s-s-see still. It-It's smudgy, almost. I can see ya but not-not full color, I guess, if that makes sense. Kinda-Kinda blurry, too. Like-Like, I can see ya fine but-but far away stuff's all…"

"Anything else wrong?" Gamora asks.

I shake my head. "J-J-Just need ya guys to-to come back to-" I don't know why I'm so taken aback by Gamora suddenly squeezing me tightly, but I don't mind it. I can only assume she was terrified for me bein' in some medical facility with Halfworld's inhabitants and tools of destruction.

I was in the same boat.

"You okay?" I ask her in a whisper for whatever reason.

"Fine," she says into the top of my head. "I was just worried. I know this sort of thing is… hard for you to be around."

I swallow hard. "Y-Yeah, but I'm… I'm keepin' it-it-it…" I shake my head and press my face into her chest. "I-I'm not doin' good. That's a complete lie." I feel Gamora shift slightly when I say that. "I-I-I nearly got under that knife. They were talkin' 'bout… extractin' some-somethin' outta me. They-They shaved me, man. This-This place's bad. Real, real bad. I-I really-" I take a shallow breath and pull myself closer to Gams. "Glad ya guys came back. Real-Real nice'a ya to do…"

"You don't think we'd leave you, did you?"

"N-No, but… takin' one for the team's usually someone's job." I don't wanna make the 'I'mma-Make-A-Wooden-Coccoon-Around-You-Guys-And-Kill-Myself-In-The-Process-Figured it-' thing a point, but it's the easiest way to get this across. "Figured-"

"Stop."

And I do stop and we just sit like this for brief period of time. And it's strange for me.

Here I am, about to get my ass torn up and put to waste, only to be saved by three of the only four friends I got. And one of 'em, Gamora, who I guess ya could say is probably my official… ahem, significant other at this point, was so scared for me she's huggin' me like this.

It feels good. It feels nice and…

"Gams?"

"Yes?"

"C-Can we, uh, go find those two idiots and haul our asses outta here? I-I-I don't wanna be here any longer than I gotta…"

"I was thinking the same-"

Suddenly, without any warning, there's a sudden, "I am Groot?!" that echoes down the hall.

What are those?! Could it…?!

My ears flick slightly and I look in the direction of Groot's very distressed, very shocked cry. "G-Groot? Why's he-"

"Get on my shoulder," Gamora tells me. "I don't like the sound of it."

"Me neither," I agree with a nod as Gams helps me up.

But… what was Groot seein'?

* * *

><p>We make our way back to the room where I'd been just before I'd been knocked out. Lefty and Righty still lay on their backs, covered in blood, lookin' as disgusting as ever.<p>

Maybe that's what Groot was seein'.

I turn my head away from the bodies, shaking slightly. "Groot? Hey!" I call out.

"I am Groot!" the voice echos again, although it's definitely closer.

"There's a backroom," Gamora tells me. "You can't see it, can you?"

"Bad lightin' in here. Where's it at? Dark corner?"

Gamora nods and strides over toward the open doorway.

We barely make it two steps in when Gamora stops abruptly.

"What? What is-"

**Oh**.

What in the-

Groot and Drax are both in here, yes, one'a them pinnin' his hands up against one of the tubes lookin' shocked as all hell (Groot, obviously) but those two idiots ain't what we're shocked by. Groot's a lil' on the ugly side and Drax ain't much to look at himself, so they ain't the focus of our surprise.

Aside from the many consoles and panels hooked up to 'em, the main point of interest happens to be the cylinder-shaped objects, one of which is victim to Groot starin' into it like it's a god damn reality holo-game. They're tubes with a green liquid bubbling inside, brightened by a light from the floor panels that makes 'em visible to my tainted eyes without me strainin' to see. Large, taller than even Groot by comparison, and about two feet wide. Course circumference and such is a thing so I ain't precise.

Stasis tubes?

My grip on Gamora intensifies a bit but relaxes as my jaw falls slack at the contents of the tube. No, not the green-ish, blue-ish hue of the tubes. Nice color 'n' all, but that ain't the thing I'm freakin' out inside about. It's what's floatin' in 'em, the creatures that I swear I've seen somewhere before, with tubes hooked to their noses and masks on their snouts to keep 'em breathin' in the liquid.

Believe me, I'd know.

They're small, fuzzy things curled into the tiniest balls they can pull themselves into. They're seemingly without any limbs. But as ya look closer, ya can see the arms, the legs, the… the… tails? At the edges of their fingers and toes are the tiniest hints of sharp nails.

Wait, are they alive? They-They gotta be. They-

One of them moves slightly, almost like it's shakin' from bein' cold. Somethin' about that's relievin' to me, that they ain't dead. But them bein' alive, them bein' more'a Halfworld's experiments isn't even the part that's the most terrifying, the most shocking, the biggest plot twist in my entire life thus far.

Their faces.

Tiny black noses on a white-colored muzzle. A fur pattern that I know from somewhere extremely familiar, with white above the eyes and-and black below 'em. And the ears. Perky, still 'til one of 'em flicks it slightly. Heh, I do that now and then. Can't figure-Wait. Hold the fuck up. Just one second.

Ears just like…

Just like mine.

Wait, that can't-

"I… Am… Groot?" Groot finally backs away, revealing the third and final being to me, just like the other two, and givin' me a look of awe. Rocket? Do you… know anything about… this?

"Holy shit."

I've always liked to think my life ain't normal. Coz it's not. It's really not. We all understand that for sure. But this? This is a whole new level of **frickin' insanity**.

My heart pounds hard in my chest.

Holy shit.

**Pound**.

These little things…

**Pound**.

Are they…

**Pound**.

Raccoons?

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>somelittlemonster<span>: ...unoduotrey.**_


	10. And now we're all parents

_**somelittlemonster: So I figured I should elaborate a little bit.**_

_**These three characters I just pushed into the story are legitimate characters in the GotG universe. Uno, Duo, and Trey are Rocket's and Gamora's kids. I don't know too much about 'em since I haven't actually read the one (one? Think it's one) comic they're all in buuuuuuut they're gonna be involved with this story.**_

_**And now that they're FINALLY in, I think it's gonna be all downhill from here. Not in a bad way or anything either.**_

_**division-ten: We had our first continuity error last chapter. SLM fixed it, but some of you read the old version. It's minor, but it bugged him (I had an easy retcon, but he wanted to fix it, so there you go- and props for doing it so darn fast!). Props to anyone who catches the difference. No-Prize for you (google it if you don't know about Marvel's famous No-Prizes). (take a guess in the comments if you like).**_

**_Short chapter, but there's not much to do with coons this small. A short time skip may be in order (after they turn in B'hark, the b-trd!) to six weeks when raccoons in captivity start eating solid food..._**

* * *

><p>I blinked. Looked in awe between the three little balls of fur in the tanks and the one clutching me.<p>

"Drax," I said simply. "What has been done with B'hark?"

"He has been dealt with. And by dealt with I am referring to the fact that he has been incapacitated, twist-tied to some rebar, and appropriately cuffed behind his back. All of the others in the facility have long since been eviscerated or fled. I believe Peter has the ship hovering over the southern exit he pinpointed," he said, holding up a comms tablet to show an exit route.

"I'd like to get Rocket to a chemical wash. As much as I'd like to leave here, the facilities for that are likely to be better here in a proper **_ahem_** facility than on our ship."

"And?" Drax asked, waiting for the inevitable.

"I'd like a vote on what we plan on doing with these three," I said, with a sweep of the hand. "We're liberating them, without question. But, we need to make sure we are not killing them by taking them from here, and how to handle them once we do. But first, the wash. Rocket knows his physiology better than we do and his opinion is important."

"Thanks, Gams," Rocket said.

Drax scrolled through a tablet left behind by one of the… eviscerated… corpses.

"There's a station in the room marked 9-Q. We passed it on the way. I will work with Groot on impounding B'hark in our brig in the interim, and come back here if needed."

"Good."

* * *

><p>Rocket was getting used to disrobing in my presence, making no complaint as he took the one-piece suit off to the waist, dragging it a bit on the floor. I knew I should have taken separates for him, but if he needed to fight this afforded him more protection on his vitals than a simple cloth shirt or pants. I got on my hands and knees under the rinsing station, and he used me as a stepladder, balancing on my back as I heard the loud spray of the chemical eyewash.<p>

"Guh, its flarkin' cold," he grunted.

"Will it work on your sense of smell as well?" I shifted slightly to redistribute his weight.

"Nah, that was some kinda opioid based spray, I think," he replied. "But it doesn't seem to be that long-lastin' My smell's startin' t' come back on its own."

"Sight?"

"Better. 'N thanks for the boost. Why didn't'cha just hold me 'r somehin'?"

"I did not really want to get sprayed. I like those things just as much as you."

"Hoppin' off."

I felt his weight shift off, and saw his drenched face and hairless back. Rocket shook himself, spraying water everywhere, as I ducked behind a short desk.

No, shelf. Filled with fresh towels. I considered, briefly, dropping one on his head, before holding it out to him. Nodding, he snatched it and rubbed himself vigorously, fluffing out his fur and sliding the top half of his jumpsuit back on.

I noticed him sneaking looks back to his shoulderblades.

"When you started eating better, it grew back. It will grow again," I reassured him.

"Don't make it hurt less," he mumbled.

"You know what will? A lift back to the main chamber. Come on. We're not leaving those infants here."

"Maybe I… maybe I don't wanna see them," Rocket replied honestly.

"Do you want me to leave them here? Be honest. We can camp outside the facility, cloaking on, and ask Nova for assistance if you don't want to return there. I won't leave them behind, but I also won't force this, either. You know Nova would come. They've been trying to break up the Halfworld cabal for years and this operation is an easy case for the bypass of planetary self-sovereignty laws. Even if Nova couldn't, the Spartoi, the A'askavarians, and the Krylonians all have a case against Halfworld experimentation. We would not have a problem getting help."

Rocket breathed in and out a few times from his nose, lost in thought.

"No."

"No?"

"No help. Not yet, a'least. I want to see what they are first. I mean, if they're just coons or…" he trailed off, gesturing to himself.

Or if they were like **_him_**.

He hopped back up on my shoulder, as I walked back to the main chamber.

* * *

><p>Rocket, still on my shoulder, touched a hand to the glass of one of the tubes. The machines hummed, almost happily, and I got a closer look inside. Small nose clips and masks for breathing. Full coat of fur. No exposed protrusions. Ears up and perked, but eyes shut.<p>

"Rocket, is it possible to open one's eyes inside those tubes?"

"Yes… n' that didn't hurt or feel too weird. I preferred lookin' out," he added, a bite in his tone. "But all three'a 'em are shut. Could be sleepin' or…"

"These ones may not yet be able to open their eyes," I replied.

"That's what I'm thinkin'. That'd make them… what… three weeks old? M'be two?"

"Someone did read the files that Peter and I had gathered."

"Guilty," Rocket said absentmindedly, as he traced circles on the glass with a claw. The small balls of fur floating inside could not be much larger than my fist, and only barely furred.

"They have hairline scars," Rocket noted. "N' their finger proportions are a bit off."

"Which means?"

"The **_hands_** means they've gotten some sorta gene therapy like I did. My voice, spine, and a buncha other parts may be machine, but my brain's organic, s' why I don't go true BSOD when I'm hit by an EMP. I'm actually a tiny bit Xandarian, thanks t' some stem cell crap. Enough for the cognitive power and a bit'a extra dexterity. But the scarrin's 'long their back and at their clavicle. Which mean's somebody's gone and redid their spines like mine, prolly broken their clavicle in two and rebuilt it so they can walk upright."

"Why would they start so young?"

"Complacency," Rocket spat, as he observed the small creature in the tube. "I read the files. They was makin' tool's'a'war. Super small, smart, fast soldiers that wouldn't be expected. Who expects a small fuzzball that looks like a…a… a pet to be the one plantin' landmines or cuttin' comms lines out? I was just a trial run. Seems like they're started phase two. If that's the case, these guys are smarter, faster, 'n more dexterous than me."

"Rocket," I said, as I flipped through the logs. "I'm not sure that's exactly the case."

"Why's that?"

"This is labeled Phase 1.5," I said, holding up the tablet in his view.

"With the success of genetic and cybernetic enhancements, copies of adult subject's stem cells to be recycled in creating new specimens. 90-BP-1, 90-BP-2, 90-BP-3 are near clones, with some genetic material from unmodified raccoon combined for genetic health," he read, slowly and clearly in a tone that belied himself.

Paused.

Blinked.

"I'm… a dad?" he asked.

"Well, they're part yours and part some other raccoon, so biologically speaking…" I said gently, mindful of his own thoughts on the matter.

"We can't take 'em," he said quickly, eyes down. "The Milano's no place for a buncha' kids. And I'm no good as a dad, n' they're still too young to eat solid food, n'…"

"Rocket?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you **_want_** to take them with us?"

"I can't."

"Not **_can_** we. Do you **_want_** to."

"…yes." He gulped at the thought, but was firm. "They deserve better 'n this. They're jus' infants."

"Then we figure it out. Do you know how to safely drain and disengage the tanks?"

"Yeah."

"Then begin while I go and retrieve some towels. They will need to be kept warm or risk hypothermia."

"You're really gonna take 'em?"

"Did you **_read_** the dossier? Did you **_read_** the information on raccoons? We have more than enough money from Nova coming our way that we can hole up somewhere for six months until they are fully grown. If you want to be their father, it would be my honor to be their mother. We have suffered. They do not need to."

"Groot's gonna spoil 'em rotten, ya know that, right?"

* * *

><p>I commed Peter once the three infants had been carefully swaddled, and medical records and their liquid nutrition- what little we could find that wasn't already opened and being dripped into their tubes- was carefully stocked away. We'd have to get them milk- or an appropriate substitute- as the amount of fluid did not look to last more than three or four weeks, and, from memory, raccoons did not fully wean until three months of age or so.<p>

Milk, toys, pacifiers… I tried remembering what I could from a page on rescuing infant raccoons that Peter had translated from English… I could see Rocket thinking away on his own, checking the infants from his perch on my shoulder.

"At least there's three. I remember somethin' about coons needin' proper socialization 'n such," he said, nonchalantly as Peter used the tractor beam to pick us up, the cloaked ship hovering overhead somewhere.

The beam lifted us up into the airlock, and the door shut beneath my feet; the beam gently lowering us onto he platform and adjusting the grav and atmo.

"Ugh, ears popped," Rocket muttered.

And then, the floodgates opened. All three opened their tiny mouths and cried.

* * *

><p>"What is this infernal…" Drax started, as he entered the airlock to greet us. "Oh. The infants. We are taking them?"<p>

"**_Yes_**," Rocket said, simply and defiantly. "Though, now I ain't sure I have an idea of what I'm doin'."

"See, here. The pressure has upset them. Do you have some material on your species I can read?"

"Ya ain't mad?"

"Mad? As in **_of unsound mind_**? I believe we all are, Rocket. If you are asking whether I am angry, however? Of course not. I would have done the same."

"Yeah. Pete translated some stuff a while 'go."

* * *

><p>"We have to <strong><em>incite them to use the bathroom<em>**? Really?" Peter whined, as he watched Rocket tongue bathe them one-by-one. "Can't we just diaper them?"

Rocket looked up from his work, the current raccoon at his paws with a very adorable mowhawk from Rocket stopping mid-cleaning. "Ya translated the document, Star-Dork. Infants don't know how to relieve 'emselves, these numbnuts less so 'cause they was in tubes. Ya have to tickle them to make 'em go. Or would you prefer the method that actual raccoons use?"

Peter made a face, recalling the information. "Uh, no. Um… can we maybe split duties, then? And someone needs to keep an eye on B'hark, too, least till we hit Xandarian space. They said "dead or alive" but he's obviously got ties to you-know-where and Nova might be able to finally bust them. I want him fed and watered enough, and **_not_** concussed. Remember, he's going to be crazy strong, since he's used to high-grav."

"What do the infants require?"

I looked to Rocket, still cleaning the second of three, peeling back the towel enough to clean, then re-swaddling to prevent heat loss. "They need food; for now, we have their premixed formula, and the bottle lists dosages. They were fed on a slow drip in the tubes, but we're going to have to hand feed them about every three hours. They need to suckle, fingers are a good substitute and they do not yet have teeth. They need to be cleaned…"

"Got that covered," Rocket said, as he spat out a little fur.

"and their bladders incited before food, and…"

"Kept warm," Rocket interjected. "That's it until their eyes open up, then we'll need t' start worrying 'bout socializin' em. They also need t' be cuddled 'n pet. Momma woulda done that a lot, t' remind 'em of their social order 'n bond."

"Do we still have Groot's sun lamp?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, I could rig up somethin'," Rocket replied.

"You're not the only one who knows their way around a toolkit, bud," Peter cut in. "And I'm definitely not the one who should keep an eye on B'hark, he'd overpower me if he decided to break for it."

"I am Groot."

"Groot's got B'hark," Rocket said, as he finished up with the last squirming infant. "I guess I can keep 'em warm 'n clean for now."

"I do not require sleep for long periods under emergencies," I cut in. "I can feed and… incite… them every three hours."

"I suppose Peter and I can suckle and provide physical affection," Drax said, reaching out a hand to one of the three. The infant sniffed, bumped its nose to Drax's pinky, and opened its maw, sucking contently on the digit. "Hrumph," Drax hummed with a bit of pride. "Peter has called me the 'den mother'; now I suppose I can finally live up to the title."

* * *

><p>I vaguely remember Zenhoberi infants- the crying, the constant changing of diapers, the burping, of my neighbor (whose face has become a blur and whose name is but a whisper out of reach). Thankfully, Rocket's children were none of these things. Boys, actually, I discovered, the first time I'd removed their swaddling to incite them over the main head one-by-one. Three sons- and not identical clones, but sons. They had Rocket's elongated body and articulate fingers that marked him as not <strong><em>quite<em>** a raccoon, but their face shapes and markings all differed slightly. They were furred all over, so about three weeks of age, but their eyes were still shut.

I wondered if they were ever supposed to be removed from those tanks. I'd heard a jumble of Rocket's thoughts as the numbing spray and panic had caused him to transmit more than just speech to his voicebox, but unfiltered thought, and I'd heard something as I'd run through the catacombs downwards of organ extraction.

These little ones seemed to have been created only for that fate- created, sentient, only to be destroyed to make the next set a hairline closer to the perfect tool of war they wanted.

These tiny balls of fur were no tools of war.

They're **_children_**.

And right now, they really needed a mother. The information extracted from the Terran internet strongly encouraged rehabilitators to work alone so the raccoons would have a mother surrogate (but see other Terrans as non-friendly entities). But we were not prepping these infants for release into the woods. We were teaching them sentience.

Would the five of us be enough?


	11. Also, there's the namin' dilemma

_**twelvepercentofaplan (formerly somelittlemonster): Username change coz I like twelvepercentofaplan more than somelittlemonster. Still me, just a different name. Sorry for any confusion.**_

_**This chapter had a different setup in my head at first but I just rolled with it as it was written. It takes place over the course of twelve days, so it kinda jumps between events a lot.**_

_**And it's mostly about the dilemma of naming children.**_

_**And lemme say this, I had the best time writing the last portion.**_

* * *

><p>Okay, soooo…<p>

I mean…

Like…

When-

Okay, I just-

**How?**

How, of every person of every species of every planet of every star system in this galaxy, did I, the lone raccoon modified in a lab and has nothin' else like me, turn out to be the father to three tiny fuzzballs that are in the same position as me? And they're **all boys**?

I'm either the luckiest guy alive (since there's a weird stereotype that every father only dreams'a havin' a boy for their kid) or cursed. I don't got the slightest idea about raisin' kids. Don't usually like 'em, if we're gonna have honesty hour here. Loud, annoying, ugly. But these things are just-

No, they ain't things. Didn't mean that. I meant **raccoons**. And more than frickin' raccoons, they're **my** kids.

I guess it's pretty obvious I got an attachment to 'em, even though I don't understand it a hundred percent myself. First I figured it was natural instinct but it's not a feelin' I'm gettin' that I gotta protect 'em. It's me knowin' I gotta do so. Barely a month old and these guys were already victim to recalibrated spines, containment tubes, and absolutely no social contact whatsoever. Now if that don't stir up some emotions in someone, the idea that these guys are legitimate babies that've been practically alone for their three weeks of life, they might very well be a heartless piece of shit.

And I ain't heartless, shockingly enough. Deep under all this brown fur, perky ears, and smart-mouthed commentary's a heart somewhere. And even though I was feelin' so many different things when I first saw 'em in those tubes-fear, awe, sadness, confusion-I knew I… **we** had to get 'em out. They deserve better, so much better. I went through so much worse than they did. And…

I couldn't leave 'em. I just couldn't leave **my**…

I can't be a monster 'bout it. I gotta be good to 'em. They're mine.

Course I feel bad for poor Gams. She was up every three hours helpin' these losers out the first two days or so. Helped 'em use the facilities, fed 'em, let 'em do that sucklin' thing. Not a single complaint once about it the next day, even though I slept like a rock the entire. D'ast. Time 'til morning. Night 3, Quill actually took up the job more than willingly since it was his turn to for watch 'til we hit Xandar, which was only a couple'a hours away at the time. We kept 'em in a makeshift pin of sorts that Quill'd constructed with Groot's old heat lamps attached to the side to give 'em the necessary warmth they need.

Of course **after** we'd turned in B'hark-who received a wonderful one-fingered gesture from me that Groot failed to imitate in a demeaning, rude way-to Nova that followin' day (day four of havin' 'em aboard), Quill and Drax went out and got somethin' more sizeable and home-y for 'em. Now and then they'll weakly pull 'emselves with their tiny hands that are so much like mine it hurts, venturin' away from their usual spot where they're all huddled together. But they usually still stay pressed together in this tiny, unmoving form when any'a us look at 'em. But now and then it even looks like they're latchin' onto one another and sniffin' each other's faces to make sure they're the same as before.

And that's pretty damn cute, okay? I know, weird comin' outta my mouth, but they're cute. Fight me.

And things just… they just kept gettin' more monumental as that day wore on. We didn't shoot off'a Xandar and into space yet, but we ain't on ground. We're lookin' for a place to stop for fuel and to restock on necessities 'sides parts. In other words, foods and such. And we're gonna have to find some kinda healthy alternative for the kids 'til they get some teeth and start eatin' solid food.

Quill's got that covered with Drax, both of whom are in the cockpit with Gams, tryin' to find a suitable place to park. I'm on the main floor attemptin' to make one'a those soon-to-be three plasma rifles I'd mentioned to Gamora. And Groot?

Groot's bein' a pest to-hey! Idiot! They was sleepin'!

"Groot, leave 'em be for thirty seconds. I know they're fuzzy and cute and ya wanna cuddle 'em and all that good stuff, but ya really can't be loomin' over 'em like that."

Groot frowns at me, gesturing toward the newly replaced pin in which they're all still probably clumped together in. "I am-" I'm simply ensuring they-

"Shhhh!" I command. "Just shuddup for a sec," I tell him in that whisper-yell-voice that no one really seems to be able to describe. I'm nervous, honestly, that Groot's a little too loud for 'em. Suppose their hearing's either super sensitive right about now or fine. I haven't had a change to read over the docs again since we picked 'em up. Still some serious risks we're takin', some stuff I'm very hesitant about, but I think we all kinda know what we're doin'. "Drax just helped me out with gettin' 'em fed 'nd incited and everything they need. They're prob'bly just gonna do what they usually do." I stride over toward the side of the pin that's low enough for me to actually see inside. And look at who's right, as usual?

There they are in a big, fluffy ball of raccoon.

"Sorry," I tell Groot, "'bout that. Never done this before, none'a us ever have."

"I am Groot." Understandable. They are your children after all, Rocket. It is your job to worry for their well being.

"Y-Yeah…" I say, folding my arms across the pin's edge, restin' my head on 'em to look in at my… **sons**. That's still a hard thing to swallow, honestly, even after three or so days. I know I'm responsible for 'em, but it's just plain nuts that I'm a **dad**. I worry 'bout 'em constantly, do anything I can to help 'em. Course I let Drax, Quill, and Gams especially (figure they gotta know who their 'mom' is) do the feedin' and all that. But even when I see 'em in the other guys' arms, I keep a close eye on 'em coz I don't want 'em gettin' hurt. No, I don't think Quill or Drax would do nuttin' to purposely bring harm to 'em. But it's a weird paranoia that's just recently popped up and I absolutely despise it. "Not gon' lie, I really don't know how I feel 'bout this parenting thing," I say, pullin' away and scratchin' the side of my snout as I look to Groot nervously. "I mean, look at me. I'm a frickin' ex-bounty hunter who's livin' on a ship with all you losers workin' jobs that either get us nearly killed or end up bein' setups."

"I am Groot?" he booms. I hear one of 'em shufflin' around, but I don't put any attention to it just yet. You do not think we are unfit to assist in raising your sons, do you?

"No, I don't mean that. I… ugh." I rub one'a my eyes furiously, takin' a whiff of air through my nose as I try to find the right spot to start. "Look, I don't mean that. 'S just that we got five people on here already. Where're these guys gonna, y'know, sleep and such when they get to be my size, huh? How are we-we supposed to provide for-"

Groot holds up a hand and gives me a stern look. "I am **Groot**," he rumbles. Firstly, I am a tree, by your definition. Raccoons love trees. I know this from personal experience and because trees tend to be common living spaces for your species. I also happen to be a tree that can extend and grow limbs at will. I am a fit place for them to sleep if need be.

I roll my eyes. "**Everyone** read those raccoon files, eh?"

"I am Groot." Secondly, we will adjust. These are people, infants, as Gamora had pointed out. They are not nuisances to any of us. In fact, Drax quite enjoys taking care of them when he does. I swallow hard as Groot turns his kneeling form to me, tilting his head and smiling like a doofus. "I am Groot," he says reassuringly while bein' as cheery as possible. I must say, I already do enjoy them quite a bit already. Three more of you on this ship is no less a burden than yours and Gamora's relationship. So it may take time, but we are all willing to make room for them.

I blink a couple times 'n' just stare at this idiot in front'a me in both disbelief and relief. If that's not one'a the nicest things Groot's said to me, I dunno what is.

"Wow. Sheesh. Got, uh, a thing in my eye." I turn back to the pin to finally give my attention to the little guy that started stirrin' earlier when Groot first started talkin'. "Don't look at me for a sec-"

And everything freezes up around me as we stare at each other for what seems like ten minutes.

In reality, it's been five seconds, and Middle One (that's what I've been refferin' 'em by for the time bein'-the spaces they usually lay in all together. Quill thinks it's impossible that I know which one's which, but the markings on their face are all just slightly different for me to know that they're always takin' up the same spot during their little 'raccoon-cuddle-fest' as Groot called it) doesn't stop there. He takes his tiny hands, grips the bottom of the pin in front of him, and pulls himself forward, all the while tryin' his somewhat squinty eyed head lookin' up at me.

His eyes are **open**.

"H-H-H-" I can't even "Holy shit" at this. I'm in shock. His eyes are frickin' open, lookin' straight at me like I'm-

"I am Groot?!" a certain obnoxious tree whispers right into my ear excitably. His eyes are open?! How long does this sort of thing usually take?

I think in my head 'three weeks' but I can't get the words out to Groot. This little guy's the first one to open his god-frickin'-damn eyes and I'm just… overwhelmed.

And it just gets better.

When he reaches the mesh wall of the thing, he sniffs it a couple'a times, lookin' somewhat agitated. I assume he's smellin' me, my stench, and don't like that there's somethin' blockin' him from gettin' ight up in my business. So I just keep starin' on and on, waitin' for this little guy to make a move and then…

**He pulls himself up, dexterous hands grippin' the edges where my hands also rest and meets my gaze nearly nose-to-nose**.

He keeps on sniffin' at my face and I just… I can't move. I'm shakin', my stomach flips over four times, and I feel like fallin' over since my knees are weak like twenty story buildings after the highest measured quake in the entire galaxy (happened on place called Felix, year 5-996. Course Felix is all beaches and trees so no one really got hurt.)

"G-G-Get Gams," I whisper, totally not havin' a crackin' in my voice or anything as I keep starin' at the first one to actually stand up normally.

Groot leaves the room in a matter of seconds, heading to the upper deck to retrieve her.

"H-Hey," I finally manage to talk after I've composed myself a bit. He backs his tiny head away at the sound'a my voice, seemingly confused by it, but doesn't look to be in fear. I take out a shaky finger and stroke the top of his head gently, and he immediately goes back to sniffin' at my snout.

"Yeah. 'S me. I'm dad."

* * *

><p>Apparently me sayin' "Get Gams" translates as "Get everyone" in Groot's head. Coz now everyone's down on the main deck now, and the little guy's still awake, pullin' himself around the pin while his two brothers remain in their positions without Middle One to push 'em apart.<p>

"I'd say we go out and celebrate with a drink to this little dude's rather 'eye-opening' achievement-"  
>Everyone in the room groans at Peter's terrible pun and the suggestion we go drink. No one wants to do that.<p>

"Somehow I ain't too surprised you'd suggest that, Quill," I say over my shoulder. "Dumb drunk…"

"He **did** tell me I was insulting drunks everywhere, himself included in that pool of people, when I made our drinks after repairs," Gamora, who's at my side and lookin' in at 'em at my level, comments snidely.

"Hey. Joking. Heard of it?"

"I am Groot," Groot says as if he's agreeing.

I hold back a laugh just barely coz he actually'd said "We know it, but you are not funny."

"Groot agrees."

I keep my lips pressed shut and that's the end'a that.

"Have you put much thought into names yet, Rocket?" Drax asks, his shadow loomin' over me.

"Well, uh…" I look to Gamora, who raises her eyebrows in anticipation for my answer. "N-No," I admit, partially embarrassed. "Been so busy with keepin' 'em comfortable and cared for and all that good stuff that I haven't gotten 'round t' names yet."

Somehow, I'm relieved when Drax tells me, "Understandable, friend. But I would choose names soon, if I were you." Almost expected him to be like, **"FRIEND, YOU MUST HAVE NAMES PICKED FOR THEM SOON, OTHER WISE YOU'RE THE WORST IN THE GALAXY, YADA YADA, BLAH BLAH BLAH."**

But that's not very Drax-y of Drax, so I don't really get why I'd think he'd say somethin' like that to me.

"We could all vote on names we suggest-" Peter starts.

"**No**." I shoot down Quill before he can even suggest namin' 'em after another dumb Terran celebrity. Didja know the ship's named after some chick named Alyssa Milano? Yeah, our not-so-cozy lil' home's name comes from some humie actress. Fascinatingly original, Star-Lord.

"And why not?" Peter asks as if we should let him go ahead with his stupid as hell suggestion. "We could name 'em after the Three Stooges?"

That irritates me coz they ain't stooges.

"Because this ain't a game, Quill," I tell 'im, soundin' a little too harsh and serious about it. "These ain't pets or somethin'. These're my kids, man."

I think everyone's taken by surprise at my reaction. They prob'bly expected "Coz ya named our ship after a d'ast Earth chick" or "Coz you're a dumb ugly hairless loser." Hell, they'd prob'bly even expect me to say, "Ya don't even got a good name yourself, Star-Dork."

And Quill ain't even ticked. "Oh. Well, yeah, that makes sense I guess. Sorry man."

"You did give yourself your name, right?" Gams asks despite the very minor tension in the room.

I nod.

"And how'd that come about?"

I stop and actually think about it for a sec. Honestly, I don't know **where** the name "Rocket" came from. Figured I needed to be called somethin' 'sides 'Subject 89P13' if I was gonna be a not-really-law-abidin'-citizen, I know that. But just where did I decide I wanted to be up and called "Rocket" for the rest'a my life? Not from pickin' up a rocket launcher and thinkin' "I like it, it's got appeal"... not from mishearin' a word and thinkin' it was my name…

Well, fuck.

I really don't got a clue where my name came from.

"Just popped up one day, just like that," I explain with the snap of my finger before I give a shrug. "I-I really dunno, Gams. Drax, how d'ya name kids?" Now I'm stressed out. I don't got the slightest ideas as to what to call any of 'em. Can't call 'em "Middle, Left, and Right" for the rest'a their lives.

Groot gives a low rumble of a laugh at my cry for help and the tattooed brute grunts in amusement. "It will come to you naturally. No need for unnecessary pressure."

And that's all the advice I'm left with for this namin' thing from Drax, who gestures for Quill to follow him back to the cockpit.

I give a sigh and keep my eyes glued to the three frickin' balls of fuzz. "I'm drawin' blanks hard, Gams."

"Well, don't mull over it too much." Takin' two of her fingers, she scratches at a spot behind my right ear lightly. "None of us are baby naming experts. You'll think up names for them sooner than later."

I shrug halfheartedly.

"Would you like to stay in my quarters again tonight?" Gamora offers, rubbin' the top'a my head with the palm'a her hand.

I know it's an attempt to take my mind off'a these numbnuts in the pin. But I ain't offended.

I grin and nod up and down, finally meetin' her gaze as she takes the little guy out. Guess it's time to feed 'em and such. Perfect timin' to open up your eyes.

"Yeah. It'd be nice, sugar."

* * *

><p>We have a mostly comfortable sleep that night 'til the weight on the bed suddenly shifts.<p>

I open my eyes just slightly and catch Gams just finally settlin' back into bed.

"'Mora?"

"Hm?"

"Kids?" I grumble tiredly.

"Yes?"

"They good?"

"Yes."

"Good. You're fuggin' awesome."

And I clonk back out a sec later. But I swear Gamora laughs at my sleepy, slurred voice for whatever reason.

* * *

><p>Two days go by (six days total with these guys now) and now there ain't just one pair'a eyes opened up. Now when ya look inside their pen, all three'a the little guys look around and stare at ya in awe almost. Happened shortly after the first one did it in the same day, and now they're all walkin' 'round a bit. Course they're kinda new to it, havin' been stuck up in tubes for such a long time. But with what they've been enhanced with it's makin' it easier for 'em, although they ain't quite on two feet like me yet.<p>

And I still don't got no ideas for names for 'em.

Drax is currently in the midst of havin' one of 'em practically gummin' his finger like no tomorrow. The other two are at my feet, gettin' their daily cleanin' routine since they've already been fed by Drax. The third guy's already been fed and everything but he ain't lettin' up on Drax's enormous finger for even a second.

"Ya mind just givin' 'im to me?" I say, spittin' out some of the brown fuzz off my tongue. "Don't wanna do this any longer than I gotta."  
>Drax gives in a moment later, gently pryin' this cute lil' bastard off'a his finger and handin' him off to me.<p>

I immediately get to work on him. Honestly, the cleanin' bit's not my favorite thing in the universe since I am gettin' fur on my tongue. No one likes hair in their mouth, whether it be their kid's or their own. But there's somethin' about doin' it that makes me feel good.

"I think the tradeoff worked out quite well," Drax tells me.

"Hm?" I look up for a split second, only to see that one'a them's makin' his way over to Drax.

"Smart of 'im, I think, to just bound on over to ya right after." I lean back down and add jokingly, "Den-mother."

Drax gives a throaty chuckle at that and lets my freshly cleaned son start with his second 'bout'a sucklin' on his thumb.

* * *

><p>Four weeks and five days old now. We've had 'em aboard the Milano for twelve days total now, and they're all doin' so much better in such a short time. Walkin's a breeze. Surely if they've got similar structures like me they'll be up on two feet soon and I'm gonna have to teach 'em how to walk. And they've all gotten to the point where they all play with one another too. And for the first time today, I let Groot get a lil' closer to 'em, long as he remained mostly quiet. They seemed pretty pumped to see him. Smelled 'im, dug their tiny nails into his crevices and observed him like no tomorrow.<p>

Raccoons do love trees. Heh. Ain't just me then.

And guess what?

**I still don't got no names for 'em.**

I've been thinkin' on it for days on end, when I'm feedin' 'em, cleanin' 'em, cuddlin' up to 'em and bein' an all around okay dad to 'em. But how in the fuck do I even get on the 'okay dad' chart when I don't even got names for 'em? I know who's oldest and who's youngest (the files we'd taken from that lab in Demura do come in handy after all) but that ain't of much help to my cause.

And tonight's another one'a those nights where me 'nd Gams were sharin' a bed. I was supposed to have watch tonight since we've got a course set for nowhere in particular, but Groot offered to fill my spot if I watched a crappy holo-film with 'im.

I was expectin' my night to be peaceful and nice with just me 'n' Gams. Course she's gonna occasionally check on the boys but I'll be okay.

That's not what happened.

Instead, after she'd fallen asleep, I found myself tossin' and turnin', thoughts flurryin' 'round my head like a d'ast tornado. It's not so much that I ain't used to layin' down in a bed with someone (it's real comfortable, really, when ya got someone else there with ya) coz I've fallen asleep real easy with her the two other times we did it.

But third time's a charm. Coz things happened tonight.

They need names, all of 'em. They're already walkin' on all fours and soon they'll be on their hind legs since they's got a skeleton like mine. It's just a matter'a time.

I don't know what time I got outta Gams' bed but I do know I sat in front'a their pin, cross-legged and deep in thought, for a good two hours or so.

I feel like an idiot for not havin' any good ideas for 'em. Hell, I came up with a wicked name for myself at the drop of a hat. This should be easy. But I can't think of anything that fits 'em, nothin' that I like enough to want to call my kids by for the rest'a our lives.

It's an agonizing two hours of occasional sighs, mumbles of "I'm an idiot" and serious brainstormin' of names that don't ever come to me. And then someone says my name and turns the light up to a medium settin' between too low and too bright.

"Rocket?"

I turn my head in the direction from which the voice comes, and am greeted by none other than Gamora. I manage a weak smile. "Yeah?"

"Why are you…?" She doesn't finish. Instead she approaches my side and looks down at the sleepin' raccoons. "Are they okay?"

"Perfect," I tell her.

"Were the crying?" I shake my head. "Have you fed them or…?"

"N-No. Was gonna in a-"

"No need to." She begins to head to the galley to retrieve their bottle and formula. "I-"

"Gams, wait." I grab her by the leg of her loose pants and tug gently. "I… I gotta question, 'fore ya go off and be the coolest mom in the universe."

"Yes?"

"I, uh…" I don't know how to say it like a question. So I just say, "Just don't got no names or nothin' and…"

"I am Groot." I thought I heard the two of you.

Apparently a certain tree's in on the conversation now too. Why the fuck's he up?

Gams sighs with minor exaggeration, and I can't tell if it's at Groot's sudden entrance or my comment on my nameless sons.

"Gams, I'm serious. I-I was layin' in bed with ya and-and just thinkin' that I don't got a single idea what to name 'em. Haven't come up with anything for 'em and it's been, what? Eleven, twelve days? And I can feel somethin' there when I think 'bout it, but I just… I-I-I can't get the words out to name 'em. And I just…" I look back through the mesh on the side at the tiny fuzzballs and give a sigh through my nose. "Feel like a d'ast idiot."

There's a moment of silence before Gamora takes a spot next to me and sits in a similar position as me. "You aren't an idiot. Well, not in the context you're referring to anyway," she teases.

It's funny but I don't laugh or anything.

"But you shouldn't stress over it, Rocket. It'll come. Give it-"

"Gams, I gave it time," I interrupt. "I hate t' interrupt ya, I really do, but don'tcha get it? I'm just-just real stressed over it. We're doin' our best but how-how d'we even know they're gonna be like me, that they're gonna be perfectly healthy and-'nd-all that? I don't even got a name for **one** of 'em. I-"

"Slow down," Gamora urges, pressin' a finger against the tip'a my snout. "Relax."

This is just like that first mornin' I woke up and was freakin' the hell out.

"O-Okay," I say, lookin' back at the raccoons-my frickin' sons-in a content silence for a couple'a minutes as they stir slightly. Great. They're wakin' up and everything. Not bad, of course. They need to piss and eat and all that good stuff.

Finally I ask, "Am I doin' good?"

Gamora is silent at first. But she pulls me closer into her side after wrappin' her arm around my shoulder. "I'd say that you're doing perfectly fine, Rocket. Don't worry about this naming dilemma." Takin' her free hand, she screws up the fur on my head before she starts to gently stroke from the top'a my head and down my neck.

"Honestly-"

Stroke.

"-their names may just-"

Stroke.

"-pop into your head like yours had all those years-"

And that's when it happens, very suddenly.

I tense up rather suddenly, gasp quietly to myself, and look to Gamora in shock.

She was right.

Coz their names did just pop into my head.

Gamora's givin' me a look of surprise as I suddenly jump to my feet. The coons are all lined up in a row, lookin' at me with curiosity, with their hands holdin' 'em all up, heads just barely pokin' over the edge'a the pin. All the way on the left, the smallest guy yawns widely and I just wanna **scream (coz wow-that was fuckin' cute)** while the other two just look around the room blankly.

And then-

I point my finger to Middle One to indicate who I'm talkin' 'bout. "Uno." My finger shakily moves to the right. "That's-That's Duo. Aaaand-" I turn to the tiny guy who just gave the most fuckin' adorable yawn ever, "-Trey."

Groot kneels down at my side, cocking his head slightly with a smile. "I am… Groot?" Uno, Duo, and... Trey?

At first I'm unsure, but I get over it in an instant. "Y-Yeah. That's-That's their names. I-I just… they're fittin', I think. Right?" I look to Gamora for assurance. My stomach feels sick for some reason, although it don't go no reason to, since Gamora's giving me a smile.

"Those are perfect, Rocket," she tells me.

"Y-Ya think so?" I ask. Is it gettin' stuffy in here or is it just me? My throat feels like it's closin' up and my eyes are gettin' kinda itchy.

Gams nods. "Very spontaneous, yes, but they're fitting names for all of them." I nod up and down, sniff a couple'a times as I look to my three raccoons, my tiny balls of fluff, my kids, my sons...

I'm lookin' at frickin' **Uno, Duo, and Trey**.

"I am Groot," Groot rumbles happily to me 'n' Gamora. Indeed they are. Fitting and perfect. Quite adorable faces, too. He reaches out a slender, wooden finger toward all three of them and Trey takes it up with his tiny hands and starts to sniff at it. The colossus smiles even wider somehow at that.

"Seems he has a liking toward you, Groot," Gamora comments, nudging me slightly to comment.

"Y-Yeah," I say, rubbin' my eyes furiously with the heels'a my palms. "Th-They frickin' better like Groot."

Groot chuckles. "I am Groot." At the sound of Groot's voice, Trey's ears flick upward. And this wouldn't be somethin' I really paid close attention to 'sides it bein' a kinda cute thing. Coz Uno does the same thing a sec later, and Duo too. Their gaze flicks straight toward Groot's dumb face, and they shuffle closer toward the tree, reachin' out with one hand, makin' grabby hands.

"I-I am Groot?" Groot asks while puttin' out two more fingers for the other guys to grab onto. Why are they doing that, Rocket? I don't understand.

"It's, uh-"

And then, all in unison-

"Ahmgroot?"

What.

"Ahmgroot?"

What.

"Ahmgroot?"

**What**.

I start shakin' again, reachin' out a hand to grip onto Gams' shoulder for support, clampin' my free hand over my snout. I can't talk, mostly thanks to the frickin' enormous lump the size of a frickin' blackfruit in my throat. But my thoughts are all over the place. Did that just happen? Did that really just happen?

"I am Groot?" Groot repeats curiously to the triplets after a moment of stunned silence.

"Ahmgroot?" They all say it again, this time lookin' to me with concern in their eyes if they're lookin' for approval, almost like they're sayin, "Yes, Dad? Is that right? I am Groot?"

I look at Gamora, vision blurrin' more and more with each passin' moment, recievin' a just as surprised look on her face in return. She opens her arms wide for me, and I immediately take the offer.

My kids are… talkin'.

Groot joined in a moment later, wrappin' his massive arms around me 'n' Gams in a big coccoon of Groot-ness as I buried my face into Gamora's chest. And I just... just fuckin'...

I just fuckin' cried my heart out.

But it wasn't outta sadness, outta fear, outta some sorta unstable emotion I was feelin'. It's just another thing that's lettin' me know that my boys, Uno, Duo, and Trey, are gonna be alright, that I saved 'em from becomin' more or less Halfworld's next being to tear up and make do with as they wish, that they're all gonna live and grow up with the biggest bunch'a idiots in the galaxy... and me and their cool as fuck mom.

And I just named 'em the way I'd named myself. Spontaneously and without any real in depth meaning to 'em.

And now they talk.

Their first fuckin' words were "I am Groot."

D'ya know how… frickin' important that is to me?

So yeah, I cried into Gamora's chest as she rubbed my back gently as Groot's warmth came over us. And I ain't ashamed to admit it.

Because in that moment, for the first time in many days, I felt like everything was alright.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>twelvepercentofaplan: <span>**__**In Div's 'Nova, We Have A Problem' the triplets' first words were also "I am Groot" and I really liked that a lot. Reason number one for that's coz it's damn cute. Secondly, it just seemed right.**_

_**And now they got names.**_

_**Who knew naming tiny raccoons could be so agonizing?**_


	12. Suddenly, Yondu

**_divisionten- TW: brief discussion of past torture._**

* * *

><p>"Moooooooooooom."<p>

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

"Mom?"

I rubbed the crust out of my eyes and looked down. I'd gone from sleeping alone (familiar), to sharing my berth with Rocket (warm, comforting), to moving the kits out of their enclosure into bed with us where they should be (exhausting).

Just because they **_should_** be sleeping curled up with someone larger didn't make it any easier. They were cute- tiny paws and tails and too-big ears- but their brains were on overdrive before their bodies really had the opportunity to catch up. They were only six weeks old, still uncoordinated, walking on all fours and drinking milk, though we'd started offering kibble at meals. None of them would touch it, or they'd lick the milk off its surface and ignore the hard meal provided by one of Xandar's zoos. When they were fully grown in a few months, we could start offering regular food, but, especially with the bio-metallic skeletal systems that grew with them, they needed a controlled diet, which meant they'd have to get used to that kibble, **_hell be damned and hear my name_**.

And, though they were talking, articulating basic concepts, they still couldn't use the bathroom or bathe themselves.

Everything Drax knew about infancy, he said, was out of order. Talking, then walking, then solid food?

At least we were crazy enough to go along with it. Thank goodness Rocket had replaced their voiceboxes with the ones from the stuffed animal kits, modified to work with their cybernetics, but not reprogrammed with his pitch. It had been weird hearing the three little ones with adult-sounding voices. When they matured, Rocket would sit down with them at his computer and have them script the sounds of their own boxes.

One of the boys was on my forehead, another two crawling on my stomach. Rocket, in a pair of drawstring pants (his back exposed, soft new fur already well along to full regrowth) was curled in the crook of my arm.

A rap on the door.

"Hey, Three Musketeers?" Peter's voice.

"Come in," I breathed out, as one of the three smacked me in the face with his tail, lightly scratching me with his claws as he turned around on my face.

"Who wants breaaaaaakfaaaaast?" Peter sung. He wore his thick leather soldering gloves for good reason- all three scampered down at his feet, Trey (easy to spot, as he was the smallest, and had a bit more of a reddish hue to his fur than the others- something Rocket couldn't distinguish- but he could easily tell them apart by smell) rolled off the bed and onto the floor instead of jumping, curling into a ball as he did so, and then grabbed with tiny needle-like claws for Peter.

Peter scooped up all three, kicking the bulkhead button on his way out, to the sounds of "Me!" "Me, me!" and Trey's highly perceptive "You're not going to make me eat that icky brown stuff are you?"

"Go back to bed, you two," Peter said from the other side.

I rolled over to my side, stroking Rocket on the side of his face gently. His fur was soft, certainly, but it had coarser attributes from age. He wiggled his nose and cracked open an eye.

"What did we get ourselves into?" he mumbled as he curled in tighter.

* * *

><p>An hour later, the two of us actually peeled ourselves out of bed. I shook out the sheets over a bin, a small pile of fur forming. Given another week or two, I would actually have enough to felt the three some small stuffed animals. The fur would need to be sterilized and sorted by color, of course.<p>

"I think it's time we started bathing them in the tub, and giving them clothes," I said, shucking off my nightdress and hunting around for loose clothing to wear chasing the kits around the ship. "They're sentient, and when they start roaming outside with us, I don't want strangers thinking they're wild or pets- they should at **_least_** be wearing pants."

"Also think they need their nails clipped, sugar," Rocket grunted, showing me a thin line of dried blood along his snout. One of them had probably scratched him in their sleep again.

"They're about six weeks, they need to learn how to climb," I countered, as Rocket fixed his face-fur, flattened from sleeping lying down.

"What 'bout walking upright?"

"Their augmented spines haven't fully finished being built with the nanos inside," I said, pulling back my hair. "Until they're at least three or four months old, I'm not risking it. They can sit upright and do things with their hands, anyway. Give it time. They're six weeks old and doing things I would have been doing at one and two years."

"Wha? Really?" I turned to look at Rocket; he was genuinely surprised.

"When your lifespan is eighty, there's no rush to grow up so fast. Let them do at their own pace."

Rocket frowned. "Guess so," he grunted, straightening his back as I heard his spine click into place. He huffed a little air from his nose. "Tub's so big they're gonna be swimmin' in it."

"It says that your species likes swimming- what about you?" I asked, taking his paw in the edge of my fingertips as we walked up to the galley.

"I **_do_**, but I have to grease th' exposed metal after I get wet. Cybernetics rot's a **_bitch_**. Pretty sure I got swimmin' trunks in my room somewheres… Someone's gotta make sure my three idjits don' drown or nuttin'."

"I have the delousant shampoo the zoo gave us as well. We owe Nova Prime for that, and the immunizations, checkups, milk formula, and kibble."

"Well, half'a Nova's been wantin' to meet the little buggers. Why don' we get 'em clean after they're done eatin' and pissin' n' get 'em some air? They've finished the last of their sh-sh-vaccinations two days ago." Rocket did **_not_** want to say 'shots'.

I smiled, and squeezed Rocket's paw gently.

"Why don't you go up to breakfast and check up on everyone? I'm going to finish up something in my room, quickly. I will be up in a moment."

"Sure, sugar," he says, nuzzling me in the shin, leaving his scent on my pants. Groot, Drax, and Peter were Uncle, but the boys called **_us_** Mom and Dad.

I smiled as I hurried back to my bunk, to go fish out what I'd been making for the past two weeks each night

* * *

><p>"Mph?" Rocket asked, a string of breakfast noodle with egg dripping down the side of his face. "That was quick."<p>

Drax was cuddling one of the boys, Groot was gently tickling another.

"They have already eaten," Drax said, as he scratched one under the chin. Trey was easy to tell apart from the other two, but Uno and Duo were not, and damn well knew it. Rocket discretely rubbed his left eye.

Duo then, the least eloquent of the three. Trey was already making complete sentences, and likely off somewhere with Peter, and Uno was the most skilled with his hands. Duo seemed to be the most skittish of the three, and preferred curling into a ball and hiding away.

"Hey, handsome," I said, kneeling down. Drax lifted all eight hundred grams of raccoon up to my face. "We're going to take a walk today. **_Outside_** the ship. So you need something special."

Duo cocked his head, curious.

"Mom?"

I pulled a small pair of coveralls from my bag. "Duo, it's about time you wore some clothes like us adults do. I made these for you."

I held them out for him to sniff and examine, they were similar in design to Rocket's battle suits- sleeveless, but loose broadcloth that would be down to the knee. Panels could be added later and they could continue to be worn for quite some time, until they sat at the knee and were taken out completely. Duo's were bluish grey, with small red patterns of a skull and dragon. He'd see them as brown, but that's also how he saw Drax's tattoos.

"Thanks, mom," he mumbled, hugging them close, and rubbing his snout on them to mark them as his.

"Uno, one for you, too." I lifted out another, in dark brown, with a small, embroidered vine pattern. I'd made them nights while staying by their side at their little enclosure in the galley.

"We'll help you get dressed **_after_** you're clean."

"Mooooooom," Uno whined.

"Look at you, you've got woodchips in your fur!"

"Dad, clean me noooooooow," he begged.

Rocket shook his head. "Let Gams eat quick, we need to clean ya different today if we're leavin' the ship."

Drax piped in as I served myself a bowl of egg noodle soup. "Next time, give it to them just before they will use it," he said, prying the coveralls from Duo. "Delayed gratification hasn't kicked in for them yet."

I tipped the bowl back, and drank down my breakfast quickly, a bit ashamed at my action, as Peter stepped out of the head with Trey in his arms.

"Guess who used the bathroom all by himself this morning?"

"I'm gonna say Trey," Rocket smirked. "'Cause ya usually forget how after a night'a drinkin'."

Peter laughed, as Trey rubbed his cheek against him, marking him with scent.

"I resemble that remark."

* * *

><p>"This is frigid," I remarked, after filling the tub, all three of the kits holding on to the edge and looking down at the water. Rocket hopped up on my back and leaned over the edge, touching it.<p>

"Not for us it ain't," he said, jumping in, splashing me in the face.

"Okay, boys, who wants in first?" I asked. Duo- it had to be Duo, because Uno would have said something- nudged me in the thigh, and I lifted him up and into the tub.

He flailed and squeaked as he felt the water in his fur, before observing Rocket paddle around in the basin, relaxing into my hands and mimicking his father. Slowly, I removed my hands around him and he swam, a little nervous, around in the tub.

One at a time, Uno and Trey were introduced to the water, and, once all three were in, paddling confidently, I fished for the specialty shampoo.

"Eeeeew, that smells," whined Trey.

"Yes it does," I replied. "But this, along with your vaccinations, is what will keep you from getting sick when you leave the ship. Getting ill is **_not_** fun." I grabbed either Uno or Duo, and he squeaked, as I began massaging in the shampoo.

"Good job, Uno," Rocket helpfully provided, as I rubbed in the orange froth. Uno relaxed, going limp in my arms as I scrubbed. Rocket swam over and stood up, pumping some into his paw and chasing Trey into a corner of the tub to get him clean as well. I released Uno and grabbed Duo by his torso, scrubbing him up too.

Rocket grabbed a little more and cleaned himself- he didn't need it like the kits did, but it was a show of solidarity to Duo- who seemed torn between liking the scratchings he was receiving but hating the smell.

I pulled down the spray head and drained the tub, watching the three skitter and slide, drenched, along the fiberglass bottom, spraying off the shampoo. Rocket pulled himself out and toweled off, and quickly ran back to his own bunk to change from swimming trunks to clothing. I pulled Trey out first, since I knew which one he was, toweling him off and providing the physical affection he required as a raccoon, scratching him behind the ear and nuzzling.

"Your brothers got their gift already, but you get one too," I said showing him his jumpsuit- charcoal grey like Peter's favorite shirt, with the Ravager's yellow flame emblazoned on its back. The patch wasn't my own embroidery; I'd gotten this one ready made from Yondu himself. If Peter was one of their uncles, Yondu was their great-uncle, and he certainly had quite the affection for the three of them when they snuck in on Peter's last holo-call, Duo and Trey working together, attempting to steal his sandwich while the two were talking.

Getting a wiggly, squirming, damp raccoon child into clothing for the first time was not an easy feat, but I managed to snap the jumpsuit in place just as Rocket returned, in his Nova flightsuit. I should probably change into my own official Nova clothing; getting around the city would be a little easier if we represented ourselves that way.

Rocket looked up at me, scratching Trey under his chin.

"Can ya pull Uno 'n Duo out?" he asked, and I did, passing him one and taking the other. He grabbed the brown jumpsuit, and I took the blue.

Finally, I wouldn't need to peer over to Rocket to tell these two apart.

* * *

><p>I held tightly to the tether, as Uno, Duo, and Trey all pulled us in different directions. I was genuinely shocked that Rocket wanted leashes on them, but the alternatives were a baby carriage, which they had no need of as they could walk just fine on their own, or allowing them to roam freely, a poor idea when it were the three of them, even with the four of us. Peter had stayed behind on the ship to clean, as well as continue to build the little ones emergency respirators for when we returned to the skies.<p>

We'd done very little flying once taking in the kits, only three times, and after the initial clear to land on Xandar, had stayed until the boys had their fill of appropriate immunizations and health checkups from the zoo vets, only Groot leaving the ship for restocking since landing, because he could simply irradiate himself upon re-entering the ship.

Groot, Drax and I each had one of the kits, and Rocket walked on all fours alongside in solidarity, trotting with his head held high and nudging one of his-**_our_**?- children when they strayed too far or tried to steal food from passers-by.

"Oy!" he yelled at an adult Krylonian, who was trying to offer a piece of sweetbread. "Oy! They're infants, and you wouldn't feed your one-month dessert, don't do it for a stranger's kids." She turned a brighter shade of pink and began to back off.

"Wait," Rocket said, standing on his hind legs.

She blinked. "You're, wait, you're one of the Guardians of the Galaxy. I am so, so sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it," he said, but I could hear the undertone of irritation. He seemed like he was at least **_attempting_** to put on some compassion in front of his sons. "Jus'… jus' show some respect for the people 'round ya, okay? Right boys? Respect for everyone, no matter what they looks like."

"Respect!" copied Uno.

"Hi, lady!" chirped Trey, brightly. "You're pretty!" **_Oh, boy_**. Peter had already gotten ahold of Trey's young, malleable mind. Rocket returned to being on all fours, shaking his head.

"Oh my, what's you're name?" she asked, bending down. Several others stopped and stared, many taking photos with their comms' cameras.

"I'm Trey! And I'm s-sick weeks old!" he said, leaning on his haunches and putting his front paws up on the woman's knee. This time Drax stepped in.

"Trey, what did we say about touching someone we don't know?"

"Ask first?" Trey replied, as he went back on all fours.

"And…?"

Uno cut in, spitting out what he'd been taught. "If they say yes, then it's okay. If they say no, you back off."

"Very good," Drax said, leaning over and rubbing at the fur between his ears.

"Are these three… your children?" she asked.

Rocket nodded proudly.

* * *

><p>Trey curled up in Peter's lap that night, Uno and Duo in mine, everyone exhausted. After the woman, it was less a walk and more a cuddle-fest; everyone wanted to say hello to the boys. Eventually, Groot picked up all three, and Rocket climbed astride, so that we could actually go to Nova grounds to get what we needed- birth certification, official photographs, and ID cards. Which ended up being another four hours as every person on staff came out to meet them.<p>

Thankfully, Groot had been creating a hollow in his trunk, and a small opening for the boys to squeeze inside if they got too overwhelmed. When they got bigger, this is probably where they'd end up sleeping- Groot had said he could make a space big enough for all three, and, barring that, at leas one of them could sleep clamped to his arm as Rocket used to if they didn't want his bed.

Rocket never used it anyway.

I hugged Uno and Duo closely as Drax hummed nearby, the scraping of his knives a snare drum and his humming the melody of a soft lullaby.

Peter broke the silence.

"Hey, so, uh. Job from Yondu."

"**_Yondu_**?" I asked, softly, eyebrow raised.

"On Felix."

"What, the beach planet?" Rocket asked, looking over Peter's handiwork on the emergency respirators. Felix was almost uninhabited, something of a spacer's dream. Lots of narrow archipelago chains, but not enough major landmass to have generated its own native sapient life. Resorts never quite flourished there, too many endangered and fragile ecosystems meant acquiring permits was a nightmare.

Uninhabited, good weather, lots of beaches… a spacer's paradise. Naturally, pirates used the place to make backdoor deals, but it was also a safe space. Anybody who tried to do anything stupid landside would be attacked by at least twelve different piracy groups, Ravagers included.

"Why doesn't he just go there himself?" I asked, cradling the boys as Uno began snoring and Duo purring.

"He **_is_**. But he needs someone who knows cybernetics. Which would be you two," Peter replied, pointing at Rocket and myself.

Rocket looked up, irritably. "This is another setup."

"No, Yondu's an asswipe but he's no liar. Remember my former crewmate with the cybernetic eye?"

Rocket giggled a bit. "Yeah. What of?"

"His name's Dinic. And his eye's going busted. Unlike us, Yondu can't just take his men into a regular hospital to get himself a new one. Our records are clean, his aren't. Yondu's called some other consortia to make a deal on parts for him. He asked if you two could assist in negotiation and identification of the right materials from the junkers.

"How much he payin'?" Rocket grumbled.

"We owe him for swapping the stone," Peter said, sternly. "I'd like to not have my face back on the bounty board."

"More charity work, then, huh?" Rocket said with a yawn. "Whatever. I need something to do. As long as you three morons watch the kids for the what- two hours?- we're planetside, sure."

"They are in good hands, small one," Drax said quietly.

"Yeah, you I trust," Rocket chirped at Drax. "But you hve to keep tabs on the kids **_and_** Pete. Think you can handle babysitting four?"

* * *

><p>Peter deftly landed the ship on Felix's smallest island chain, just south of the planet's equator. Perfect weather, nice breeze, and plenty of fruit-bearing trees. Rocket and I checked our day bags, wielded the appropriate weaponry for such a deal (stun equipment only), and Rocket also carried a small magnification and metallurgy testing kit. Rocket and I checked our comms units up in the cockpit after we had landed while Peter and Drax were doing… something below. Rocket licked the boy's faces clean, almost absentmindedly, as he went over his equipment again.<p>

"If this is a setup, I'mma fu-fu…" Rocket bit his tongue. "I. Will. Be. Very. Upset," he corrected, enunciating each word separately.

Duo rolled over in his lap, smacking him in the face with his tail.

Peter and Drax rounded back up to the cockpit. "Hey, you all good?" Peter asked, giving Uno some head scratches. Rocket shook his head, ears flexing down a bit.

"Food every four hours, so, you should only need to feed 'em once, I jus' cleaned them so they don' need a bath or nuttin', and read with 'em a bit. Groot, talk with 'em- sounds like Duo's startin' t' understand ya. Drax n' Pete, keep it to Xandarian only. I don' want them end up un'telligible because they mash up too many languages."

"Bud, it's what? Six hours? They'll be fine, right, everyone?"

"But it's not…" Trey said innocently, ears perking upright. Uno smacked him with a paw.

"It's not **_what_**, sweetie?" I turned and glared at Peter.

"All right, all right," Peter said, waving his hands in front of his face. "It's actually replacement parts for the kids, or stuff for your own weapons along with what he needs. That's the last time I have Mister-Loose-Lips sneak into one of my convos. Knowing Yondu, he'll pay, say it's for his crew, and ditch the stuff you picked out with you two. Get whatever you need from the junkers, okay? It's his reward for helping him with the optical replacement. We have a crate with sledges for you, too, to bring your supplies back. It's big, so Drax will jettison it from cargo. Don't buy more than whatever fits in it. We won't have room on the ship otherwise."

Rocket eyed Trey. "That everythin' they talked 'bout, kid?"

Trey cocked his head. "Think so? Only other thing was Yondu wanted Peter's dinner. Peter said something about trading it for that weird green drink he was having."

Rocket smirked. "Good kid," and then turned to Peter, and whistled, a few sharp trills and a loud click with his tongue. Peter winced.

"That's just low," Peter replied. "And completely disregarding the spirit of our Clean Mouth rule."

"Oh I'm sorry. I was **_just whistling_**."

* * *

><p>Rocket and I stepped down onto the sand. I watched as Rocket flexed his toes, before stretching out on all fours and fluffing out his fur.<p>

"'Fore they pick us up, I could use a dip in th' ocean," Rocket said.

"You will have ample time for that," Drax yelled from the cargo entrance as he pushed out the crate on our fiberglass sledge, then quickly closing the airlock before I had the chance to ask him what he meant by the statement. The Milano quickly cleared airspace before Groot's voice blared from the comms.

"I am Groot. I **_am_** Groot."

Rocket hissed.

"Groot says they made a mistake on the date. Yondu ain' commin' for another three days."

"Then why aren't they coming back for- oh. This was planned."

Peter's voice crackled on the comms. "Thought you two could use a vacation. Yes, Yondu really is coming. Day after tomorrow, 5PM local. Your clothes, a tent, portable stove, and stuff's in the crate. If you don't trust me with the Musketeers, that's fine, but Drax has a hold of them for you two. We'll see you in about seventy hours."

"Asshole," Rocket grunted back. "But thanks."

"If there's an **_actual_** problem, buzz us. We're just parked on the moon. Yay or nay for letting them on their first low-grav walk?"

"I'd like to be there for that, thanks."

"Roger that, Ranger Rick. Star-Lord out."

* * *

><p>Rocket sliced open the crate, pulling out our supplies. Tent, fire starters, sleeping bags, clothing, Drax's homecooked food portioned in servings, a cooler of water, alcohol and chasers, ice. Fishing supplies, tarps, and a spit if we wanted to catch and cook our own fresh food instead. A few personal items as well: my embroidery kit and Rocket's hand-cranked gemstone tumbler, and plenty of unused space for the salvage we'd get in a few days. No high technology other than comms and the stove.<p>

It wasn't anything close to roughing it, but Peter was right- Rocket and I had gone quite a bit stir crazy and being cooped in the ship with the little ones hadn't helped. They were wonderful, certainly, but for Rocket's sanity and my own, we needed the air.

Rocket shrugged. "Man, if this is a setup, we need to do it more often," he joked. "Hey, Gams, let's get camp up first."

"My thoughts too, but we should be farther away from the shoreline. Let me pull the sledge up to those dunes and set up there."

"Why's that?" he asked quizzically as he ran alongside me.

"Tides. Low tide right now, we'll get wet if we camp here when the tides come in."

"See, you have the survivalism skills. I'm kinda at a loss of what I can do right now," he replied, sheepishly. "I'll admit, the break's welcome. But I wish I'd had some warnin' so I coulda brought some projects down."

"Someone put in your tumbler. I'm guessing Groot?"

"Prolly. But I just use that to polish glass for my laser projects."

"And what is glass made from?"

"Silica…" he replied, embarrassed. "Guess I can go beachcombin' later."

"Since this is too large for you," I said, pointing to the sledge, and the packed tent inside, "could you grab us a snack?"

"We just have those premade meals in there. I didn't see no snacks," he replied. I pointed at a nearby blackfruit tree, dangling precariously low and full of ripe fruit. "**_Ooooooh_**. Sorry, sugar. I don' think I woulda lasted a day out in the wild."

"Damn straight you wouldn't have," I called after, as he deftly ascended the trunk.

* * *

><p>I set up camp while Rocket set up his tumbler, the stove, and dug a firepit.<p>

"What now?" he asked, irritated. "We have the rest of today, all of tomorrow, and half a day after. What was Quill thinkin'? He left you somethin' I'm always seein' ya doin' in downtime, but I don' even got no books."

"I think they were expecting us to copulate," I replied, seriously. "They already think we are and I don't think either of us have actually corrected them in the past month."

"**_Hahahaha_**… wait, no, you're serious."

"Think on it- we've been sharing quarters, but for the past week we've had the little ones in bed with us. Peter and Drax probably think we haven't, what's the word Peter uses?"

"Gotten any?"

"That."

Rocket's fur puffs out and his ear twitches wildly. "No offense, sugar, but I don' think that's happenin' anytime soon."

"You rut."

"Good gods, did those Terran biologists write down everythin'? Yeah, I rut. And when I ain't… it ain't happenin'. Even when I am, I just… kinda…"

"You want to be hugged. Yes, Rocket. We read the files."

"So I can if ya wanna, but, erm, I won' really get nottin' outta it. But if it'll make ya happy…"

"Rocket. Think for a moment. I was tortured by Thanos for twenty years of my life. **_I am female_**. Imagine- or **_don't_**- as to what some of that torture may have been. I'd prefer not, if that is okay with you. If you'd like, we can figure out something incredibly raunchy to tell the boys on our return, like I poured syrup in your fur, and then…"

"**_Why is the first thin' ya think of summat to do with waffles_**?!"

"Because they make me think of you," I said, fluffing his fur. "Come, Drax's food looks fine, but we have an ocean in front of us. Let's see if we can make some fresh dinner tonight."

* * *

><p>"…'N then he cut his own arm off, 'n sprayed sap right 'n the asshole's eye!" Rocket cried out, as he ripped through a skewer of eel and grilled pico. I laughed along, squished next to him in the sand, skewered fish in hand. "Your turn, Gams."<p>

I felt the fire on my face, but I was flush from more than just that. I leaned in gently, and began.

"So, let me tell you about the first time Nebula menstruated. I know it's not polite conversation, but I **_am_** talking with **_you_**…"

X

The next day flew by. We woke up lazily, curled up in one bag in the tent, a tangle of limbs and fur, Rocket's wet nose pressed against my throat. We heated some of Drax's food on the stove, and I pulled out my embroidery while Rocket went down to the beach proper to look for seaglass and semiprecious stones.

I'd then discovered that, along with my normal needlepoint netting, someone had rolled up the kite fabric. I supposed I wouldn't be embroidering before lunch, but **_sewing_**.

An hour later, Rocket returned to the dune, with a dari-nut shell the size of his head filled with objects from the shoreline, to me having just cut out the parts for Rocket's rain gear.

"That's why you wanted the kite fabric?" he asked, quizzically, as he dropped the first stone into his tumbler and cranked it to life at my side.

"Water and windproof, lightweight, orange. A perfect fit," I replied, as I began basting the pieces together. "And what did you find?"

"Jasper," he replied, fishing a brilliant orange and black marbled stone from his device, holding it up. "This might actually sell for a bit if I set it in summat. And here," he added, pulling out another rock, hard and brown.

"Unpolished jasper?" I asked, as I pieced together the hood.

"Better," he said, as he put the stone into a device on the side and pulled on a lever, making an audible **_crunch_**. He pulled it out, and the inside was a brilliant purple. "Amethyst. Gotta be careful polishing this one." He pulled out a small flat piece from the other side of the tumbler, and tools. "Need to cut this one by hand before polishing."

"That's… gorgeous."

"Not as gorgeous as ya," he shot back instantly, then paused. "Too corny?"

"Just a bit."

"Well, think on it this way. I ain't cuttin' ya into little pieces to sell ya at market- wait, that's **_worse_**. Forget it."

I ruffled his fur and went back to my own work, leaning into both him and the dune.

* * *

><p>We packed up camp the following afternoon, pinging the ship to let Peter, Drax, Groot, and the little ones know we were meeting Yondu at the drop. Rocket wore his jacket proudly, even though the bottom hadn't been properly bias hemmed yet, and the ears were still exposed. I planned on adding mesh, but he seemed to prefer his ears free even with the hood up.<p>

"How was the honeymoon, ya idjits?" Yondu asked, smacking me on the back as he and I walked alongside, dragging the sledge along the beach. Rocket sat on my shoulder nd leered.

"Trust me, Yondu, whatever ya though we did, well, it was at least ten times that."

"Ya know what…? **_No_**. I don't want to know. Not now, not ever. But I am plannin' on tetherin' the Eclector to the moon when done so my crew have time to fix 'emselves up before we head to Hala and intercept some ships. There's some cargo we have intrest in liberatin'."

"And you want to dock on the moon, specifically…?"

"Didn't Quill get legal custody of the little buggers? That makes me their godparent. I wanna see 'em," he replied, whistling. "'N look, here's our asshole. **_Heeeeey_**, Pacha! Long time no see!"

"Not long enough," Pacha, the goggles-wearing Kree grunted in reply. "So. How can I rip you off today?"

* * *

><p>Peter came to pick all three of us up shortly after the units were passed between hands. Only when we landed back on Felix's moon, next to the Eclector, did Rocket and I breathe a sigh of relief.<p>

"Thank the gods. Didn't get shot at, wasn't a setup," I said, to everyone, as Yondu was searching around for his spacesuit helmet so that he could walk back to his own ship.

"Nice t' have those once in a while, innit?" Yondu replied, as he clicked his helmet into place. "Be seein' ya. Thanks for pickin' out that stuff, fuzzbutt."

Of course, this is when comms needed to sound. Yondu ducked behind the galley table and out of sight, as Peter flicked the comms to life. Nova Prime herself was in full view.

"So," she stated, simply and succinctly.

"What can we do for you, ma'am?" Peter asked innocently, as though he absolutely did not have a wanted criminal on his ship.

"We've interrogated B'hark. Incidentally, some of his ties to Halfworld have been attempting to contact him via cypher. We have it decoded, and, as it pertains to certain members of your crew, I think it's imperative that we share it with you. I will be forwarding a copy to your printer directly, on a one-way burn channel, if you'll give permission."

"No mission?"

"We need to figure out our course of action, first. After reading, if you have any suggestions, we are all ears. Do we have permission?"

"Yeah, go ahead. You know our codes."

"Once you've read it, burn it please. Thank you. Nova out."

The printer hummed to life, and a neat stack of documents collated themselves as the comms went offline. Yondu stood up and raised an eyebrow, patting Uno through the glove in his suit. Rocket tottered nervously over to the printer, and began to read, flipping through pages incredibly fast.

"**_Fuck_**."

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>divisionten<span>- So! Two of my ongoing fics are done! Both Mirror House and Thrusters are complete, so if you've been following them, they're all finished up! I've gotten a bunch of great recommendations for new one-shots to write as I work on The Hunt and ReN.**_

_**Also. 50,000 words! HOLY COW.**_


	13. Finally, there's a lil' bit of a spat

**_twelvepercentofaplan: Shoutout to divisionten for makin' me attached to all three raccoon kids, especially Trey, with her last chapter. Fuckin' cute as hell losers. Also the stealth pun I didn't catch at first._**

**_Speakin' of Div, go enter her 'Guardians March Fic Challenge' and kick my mediocre story's ass. She's givin' away a SDCC Rocket Raccoon #1 by Skottie Young and some other kickass shit._**

**_Anyways, have this disaster._**

* * *

><p>"<strong>Fuck<strong>."

"Dad, that's a bad word." Trey, who I totally didn't notice was standin' (er, well, standin' on all fours that is) just at my side as I was flickin' through Nova's soon-to-be-burned (yeah, okay) pages corrects me like I would correct him in this same swearin' instance. Course I do, though. Kid's just lettin' me know so I don't do it again.

But with what I just read, the chances'a me substitutin' "Mother fuckin' shit damn ass fuck flark ass bitch!", whatever that might be, with "Oh, shoot! Holy smokes!" are one in three billion.

A low growl rumbles in my throat, and Trey backs away a step or two. Immediately I feel bad, cool down just long enough to say, "Trey, buddy, I know. Sorry. Just not good news I got, right?" I look to Gamora and back to Trey worriedly, but I keep myself level-headed just so I don't put Trey's head in the wrong place where he thinks I'm pissed at him. "Alright?"

**It's fuckin' terrible news.**

The little dude cocks his head slightly before he nods slowly in understanding. "Oh. O-Okay. You're not mad?"

"Can't be mad at you, bud," I tell 'im with a forced grin and a scratch behind his ear. Although this is a real serious matter, I gotta say, I can't be mad at any of 'em, Trey especially with his full sentences already gettin' spoken. He's almost like a ridiculously polite gentleman in the form of a tiny raccoon in a frickin' jumpsuit.

"Well, seein' as ya all gots a bit'a bad news," a certain Centaurian murmurs, "I best be headin' out now." Yondu pats Uno on the head again, salutin' me with two fingers before he turns to Peter and points at him. "Take care of 'em right, idjit. Don't get 'em killed. Like 'em the way they is."

"What makes you think I'd get 'em killed?"

Yondu gives no other response, instead steppin' outta the ship and headin' back to his on the moon's surface.

"Dad, what's that?" Not Trey, but Uno asks.

"S'nothin'," I tell both of 'em. "Quill? They eat?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Crap. "They, uh, get read to?"

"Yeah, wh-"

Can Quill pick up a fuckin' hint? I need 'em outta the room. I give the half-Terran a look we've come to call the "**Take-A-Hint-Fuckwad-I-Need-'Em-Outta-The-Room**" look with a grunt to affirm it.

A beat. "Oh! Oh, yeah! Guys, come with me. We're gonna keep up with that reading thing, alright?" Finally. He gets it. Quill pads over and scoops up the two raccoons who're givin' him ecstatic looks at the idea of more readin' and such. "Where's Duo?"

"Drax?" Uno suggests.

"Figures," Peter says. "Drax! We have a thing!" he calls out as he practically struts outta the room with my kids in his arms.

And I read it over again and again and again.

"Rocket? What is it?"

I drop the stack sloppily onto the printer, fists clenchin' up and pressed to my sides. The steam's risin' again, but I don't wanna start lashin' out. Never done that in front'a the boys, never wanna do it in front'a the boys.

"They know," I say through clenched teeth simply.

"They? As in…?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I mutter a little too angrily at Gams. "All of Half-Dick knows 'bout their little failure back on Demura. But that ain't the part that's got me…" I bring my hands up close to my face, dig my nails into my temples, give a growl. If we was somewhere with grass, I'd be beatin' it up right 'bout now.

"Calm down. What's the-"

"Found out we took 'em. They know we-" I point back and forth between us "-took Uno, Duo, and Trey and they ain't exactly happy 'bout that. They, uh…" I look around nervously, havin' a hard time gettin' the words out. "They're, uh… tryin' to find 'em again."

Silence.

That's basically the summary of the decoded work from Nova. There was more conversation between them, but that was the gist of the d'ast thing. "Subjects from Phase 1.5 are missin', 89P13 (FUCK. THAT.) escaped, yada-yada". But the part that was scary was that they're lookin' for 'em again.

They want 'em back. And I really don't know what for. For a trade in for B'hark's daughter? For spare parts? Yeah, you're gonna have to go through me first. Also Groot. Gams too. Probably Idiots One and Two as well.

"Shit," Gamora whispers. If this were any other case, I'd laugh coz hearin' Gams swear's just plain hilarious. Even a simple "damn" or "hell" seems outta her seem weird to hear. But right now I'm feelin' a mix between melancholy, anger, insanity, and the urge to punch a nearby wall.

I don't do that last part. Luckily.

"Shit ain't even a word that cane describe the start'a my frustration, Gams," I say as a tiny bit'a steam shoots out my ears. "They-They wanna come 'n' get 'em."

"How do they expect to achieve that?"

"Through fuckin'-" I stop, check myself. No Trey here. Okay, so, "-fuckin' wanna set up some sorta ridiculous task force of Halfworlders to scour around I guess. Stupid, yeah, but Halworld's got a shit ton of people willin' to jump on that bandwagon."

"Is that an assumption on your part or does it-"

"Why the hell would I make that up?" I interrupt her, recievin' a somewhat disgusted look from her end. "I-I got no reason to. I'm just-just-" I lose place of where I was goin' with that. Hell, I don't even remember what I wanted to say there years later. "I-I just-"

"Calm. Down." Gamora's firm with me about it, but not in a rude way. "I understand you're stresses. I'm worried, too. I may not wear it on my sleeve but I'm just as terrified for the boys' well being as you."

I almost say, "Damn straight ya should be," but keep that to myself. I can't bring myself to be pissed about this to everyone else, includin' Gamora.

"Maybe consulting Peter is a good idea?" Gams suggests. "We do need a plan of action as Prime had told us."

I nod quickly. "Y-Yeah. I know." I huff a breath out. "Can ya get our babysitters and just our babysitters? Team meeting." Haven't called one in a while. The first and last time I did was about who thought it'd be hilarious to stick a sheet'a film wrap on my doorway so I only I'd run into it and fall flat on my back.

That was Groot, for the record. Frickin' dick.

"What about the boys?"

"Actually," I say, "just get Quill and Drax. Groot can hold down the fort for ten minutes."

* * *

><p>Gamora and I sit in silence for another few minutes as Drax holds Nova's papers in hand, Peter readin' over his shoulder. It's tense, awkward almost, like we just gave the two of 'em a note from Quill's long-deceased mom or a confession that one of us only has three weeks to live or some shit like that.<p>

"Halfworld is looking for them?" Drax breaks the silence gruffly.

"Y-Yeah," I say, holdin' the anger down to a bare minimum. "Don't really know where we should go from here. But lemme tell ya, I ain't opposed to blowin' shit up if we gotta."

"That's not exactly probable," Gamora reminds me. And I know it's not the best idea to be talkin' 'bout killin' shit and blowin' crap up with three kids aboard, but that's our lives. Not really heroes, not really villains.

"Well, s'gonna happen at some point."

"Well," Peter, who I'm really hopin' has at least some sorta idea in his head, looks between me 'n' Gams, "do either of you have some course of action you **want** to take?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Wait, ya don't got nothin' for us?"

"Well, these are your kids, Rocket," Peter says. "At the end of the day, t's your choice. I don't want to do something you're opposed to."

I blink a couple times in thought before lookin' to Gamora. "Gams? You're the numbnuts' mom. Help me?"

Gamora sits silently for a period of time, about thirty seconds, before she bites her lip and gives a sigh. "I do have a suggestion but…"

"But?"

"It's not something I think you'll be a hundred percent okay with, Rocket."

Well, fuck. Even if it's somethin' I'm gonna be on the distasteful side toward, if it's somethin' that won't happen since I got ambition to be "right" all the time or whatever, I still wanna hear what Gamora's gotta say. I'd rather she don't keep quiet about it. Her input's important, I think.

Hopefully it's just not somethin' batshit insane.

"Gams, it can't be that bad," I assure her.

"Well," she starts slowly, "presumably they'll come looking for us. We don't know if they know our ship or anything, but I wouldn't be shocked if they did. Perhaps we should leave the boys with-"

'Leave the boys.' Wait. What? She wants to leave 'em with…?

"-Nova until we settle this Halfworld issue? Maybe we could even stay with them ours-"

"**Nope**."

The room gets deafeningly silent at my teeth-clenched, one-syllable response.

"Are ya frickin' nuts?" I ask Gamora, and it's a serious question. "That-That ain't a good idea at all. We ain't leavin' 'em in Nova's care for any given period'a time."

"Rocket, it's just tempor-"

"Don't care." For a second, just a split second, I consider the possibility that I'm overreacting, but I don't think I am. "The boys've already been alone for a damn long time and ya wanna just hand 'em over just like that?"

"They wouldn't be alone," Gamora tells me irritably. "I, for one, trust Nova. I doubt they'd do anything that'd put them in any sort of distress or-"

"I trust Nova too. Hell, we take jobs from the losers all the fuckin' time. But where the hell'd ya get the dumb idea that they'd-"

"Whoa, chill." That's Peter playin' peacekeeper between me 'n' Gams-somethin' that he hasn't had to do yet. "Rocket? Your tail's puffing up pretty bad. Maybe you should relax? Gamora's got a-"

"Got a damn stupid suggestion, that's what Gamora's got."

Lookin' back at it, if I didn't say this, if I didn't act like such a stubborn fuck 'bout this, the rest'a this conversation could'a been less tense. See, I know Gams is right in more ways than one. But I just disagree. I don't wanna keep Uno, Duo, and Trey away from us any longer than they've been with us. No, I don't think they'd forget any'a us or anything like that, but I just don't wanna make 'em think we're leavin' 'em for a long time or that we're not comin' back or…

There's just a multitude of things I don't wanna put 'em through.

Gamora's brow furrows. "In what way is my idea, a much more likeable one compared to your ludicrous 'blow shit up' suggestion, a stupid one?"

"I didn't suggest we blow anyone or anything up," I retort. "Just said I'm ready and willing. And it's stupid coz ya wanna just hand 'em off without a thought?"

"I don't **want** to just hand the boys off like that, Rocket," Gamora says. "Where'd that even come from? It's the only real course of action I can think of that would keep them out of danger until we finished-"

"But it's not. It's-"

"This interrupting thing you do is irritating. Can you keep your mouth shut for a moment?"

Ouch. Damn, guess it's goin' down, than.

"Frustrating to be interrupted, right? Can you close your mouth now?" she adds.

"Not when ya keep makin' dumb ass suggestions like that," I bite back.

"Oh, because resorting to violence is always the answer instead of being reasonable, right?"

"Didn't say that, Gamora."

"You implicated it."

"Soooo, how was the vacation?" Quill, **really**?

"Quill, stick it for a second," I tell him. "Listen, we ain't doin' that, Gamora. I don't mean to be rude-"

She scoffs at that. A legitimate scoff of disbelief.

"-but we can't do it. I don't wanna leave 'em with Nova when they'd be better off with us. Nova's got a lot on their plate as it is. Like they're gonna-"

"They'd be perfectly willing."

"We ain't doin' it, holy hell!" Finally, one of us is actually yellin' instead of havin' a slightly raised volume on our respective voices. And it's really not too big a shock that it's me that started it up. It shouldn't be a surprise from anyone, really. "No. We're not leavin' 'em with Nova."

"And why is that?! Because you're stubborn? Because-"

"Coz I'm their dad and I know what the fuck's best for 'em."

"And what am I, than?"

A beat of silence.

"Am I just their mother until a sudden twist of events come? Then they're exclusively under your constant rule, Rocket?" I open my mouth to retort, but stop when I can see Gamora's genuinely upset. Not like sad upset, but angry. She's pissed at me.

"Is that it, Rocket?"

Silence. That's gotta be it. That's gotta be the end'a the argument between us, our first real fight since we're an official couple now. I assume that Gams'll understand my point of view and just go along with it, but the burnin' look of pure anger in her eyes that's practically drillin' holes into my skull says otherwise.

Shit. I fucked up.

I gotta say somethin' to make it better. I gotta try.

So after another ten seconds of silence, another few moments where we just stare at one another in disbelief, I talk again. "G-Gams, I don't wanna-"

"**Move**." Gamora shoves past me rudely and ascends the stairs to the upper deck where our rooms are and where Groot is presumably sittin' with our boys. I watch her go with a breath caught in my throat, and she doesn't bother to turn to me or say nothin' else.

I fucked up. As per frickin' usual.

* * *

><p>I don't handle the silent treatment well.<p>

And no, this don't got nothin' to do with Groot. Groot's a man (tree, teenager, whatever. Heh, tree-nager) of few words in the most literal sense in the galaxy, but me 'n' him get along well. I understand him when he says those three words I love/hate to hear coz it really ain't just 'I am Groot.' It's anything he wants it to be.

It's Gams.

After our lil' spat that ended with me pullin' the "I'm their dad" card, she headed up to assure the boys weren't raisin' hell for Groot. And for a while I thought I wasnt' gonna see her for the rest'a the day.

But Gamora did come back down from the upper deck but didn't give me a look or a word. I remember that she once pulled the silent treatment on Quill once after he'd made a crude comment toward her in passing, and it lasted only a few hours. So for this to go on for the rest'a the day is different. She's pissed, I get it. But aren't couples s'pposed to work out their issues by talkin' about 'em and comin' to a conclusion where they're both satisfied and everything's okay? That's how it's made out to be on film and between shows on the holo-screen.

Maybe it's a tactic to make me really think 'bout how big an idiot I am. Coz it's workin' real fuckin' well. I'm an idiot for actin' out like that, yeah, but I didn't really mean for it to be rude or degrading to anyone. I'm just protective over my frickin' kids. I love the little buggers and I really don't wanna-

Oh, fuck. I **love** 'em. Shit.

"Night" on the Milano rolls around faster than I anticipated, and based off'a the fact that Gamora's only interaction with me since our argument was an awkward glare between one another at dinner, I assume I'm gon' be sleepin' alone tonight. Give her some time to cool down, give me some time to think to myself and all that.

No one's gotta watch tonight. We haven't left Felix's moon for the sake of not knowin' where the fuck we've got to go.

I scutter up the stairs to where our rooms wait, only to just barely catch sight of Gamora enterin' her own quarters with three squirmin' raccoons in her arms.

"Mom, where's Dad at?"

The door shuts behind 'em a second later.

It's probably better for 'em to be sleepin' in there since it's the only place me and Gams had 'em sleepin' 'sides their now vacant enclosure. A change of scene for a night could be uncomfortable or make 'em all too damn curious 'bout where they're at. Plus I got lotsa materials for weaponry all about. Definitely not a safe place for the kids quite yet.

Despite knowin' it's right for 'em to stay with Gams, I still trudge miserably to my room with my ears pressed onto my head.

I know Gams is pissed, but she wouldn't just take 'em to her room to spite me. I know she wouldn't do nothin' like that. It's just the fact that I'm gonna be in this room again with Groot without 'em's a little off. Groot's grown accustomed to the change just fine, I think. Probably more comfortable for him to be sleepin' by himself without a meter-long raccoon clutchin' his arm.

I change quickly outta my clothes and into drawstring pants as usual, and look around the room for-

"I am Groot?" Rocket?

That. I was lookin' for the tree that walks and talks to me.

"Yeah?"

"I am… Groot?" Are you and Gamora… okay?

Are we? I dunno the answer quite yet. I assume so. So I just shrug. "I think so? I don't know, I'm not too great at this sorta thing."

"I am-" You seem upse-

"I don' wanna talk 'bout it." I claw my way up onto Groot's shoulder, press my face into his neck, and say, "Shuddup and go the fuck to sleep."

* * *

><p>It's another night of restlessness for me.<p>

Same old process, but it's not coz I'm not tired. My eyes are heavy as ever and I did doze off on Groot a couple'a times only to jump suddenly and sent straight back to one-night insomnia like five frickin' seconds later.

At this point, I've settled on sittin' at the edge of my bed in the dark of the room, Groot relieved of my weight on his arm and shoulder for now while I think and think and think.

Am I wrong? I mean, am I just thinkin' about this the wrong way?

Halfworld's wantin' the boys, prob'bly me too, and we gotta do somethin' about it. We know B'hark's in the wrong, so I'm sure Nova's totally down to light shit up and all that. And I'm gladly ready and willin' to go along with 'em while they do it.

But that don't seem like the way to go about it.

I want the bastards dead, that's understood. But I don't wanna have to leave my boys with random people without me or Gamora. Sure, the people they'd all get left with would possibly be the zoologists that checked 'em out but… I don't want that. I want 'em with me, on this ship, 'til they're fully grown and ready to go out on their own.

I just want 'em safe in my care, and I want 'em to know that me, their dad, fuckin' Rocket, ain't gonna let shit happen to 'em no matter what. Our lives as the Guardians of the Galaxy might be fuckin' insane but that don't mean we gotta keep the boys outta it like it's not a part'a their lives now too. I'm sure at some point I'm gonna have to teach 'em that we don't live the most safest of lives all together, but I sure as hell don't want 'em…

Fuck. I just don't know what I wanna do. I'm conflicted so badly I can't even keep myself together. I rub my temples, huff a breath out, and try to cool myself down.

"Mother fuck!" comes outta my mouth. Groot twitches slightly but doesn't wake up. A second later I gaze down at my feet and say, "What the hell am I supposed to do? I don't got much else to do 'sides keep 'em safe and-"

**Scritch scritch scritch**.

My gaze eases up toward the door to my room, sealed tightly. But there's somethin' that sounds like it's-

**Scritch scritch scritch**.

"Daaaad?"

I blink, my head pickin' up and my ears finally raisin' off my head and perkin' up like normal. Is that one'a the kids?

"Dad? Dad?"

It's gotta be.

I lean off the bed and shuffle toward the door before slidin' it open with the click of the button on the panel. And when it slides open, I'm greeted with the little guy who's got quite the mouth on him, still dressed in his jumpsuit Gamora'd made for him, lookin' up at me with a worried expression.

"Trey, whatsa matter?"

"I, um," he scratches behind his ear, lookin' past me into the room and then back up to my face "I had to go to the bathroom. Mom let me out because Peter, um, told her I can go on my own now. And I wanted, um…"

He looks nervous, scared almost. Did he hear me yellin' a certain phrase that rhymes with 'brother duck' before I got up to let 'im in? "What is it, bud?" I ask while I kneel and rub the top of his head gently. "You okay?" Part'a me feels sick coz for a split second I think he's havin' nightmares. Course it ain't likely since he wasn't victim to vivisection after vivisection and such. But that's what's in my mind for a moment.

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

Perfect. Not nightmares. But compassion? Jeez. Which one of us former criminals already taught my kids how to be frickin' concerned for people? Or is it just in their nature?

I give him a surprised look. "Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm always okay, Trey."

"Mom said you were feeling stubborn." True fact, and I can't blame her for sayin' that. "Is that like being sick? Is that why you're sleeping with Groot?"

Trey's not jokin'. Ohhh, man. The naivety in this poor kid's killin' me. Poor guy. It's like Drax-level naivety. But since it's comin' from Trey it's kinda funny. "Nah, it ain't like that. It's, uh, a personality trait, guess ya could say. I'm fine."

"Oh," Trey says simply before he looks down at the ground.

"Ya okay? Ya wanna go back to-"

He shakes his head.

"Ya wanna…" I look back to the bed, "stay with me tonight?"

"I won't get sick?"

I roll my eyes and laugh a little. "I just told ya no sickness on me, buddy."

I trot into the room with a little raccoon at my heels before liftin' him onto the bed and pullin' myself up precariously.

"Did, uh, mom say anything else about me?"

"She said you and her were arguing earlier."

"Oh." A beat. "That's it?"

"Yeah."

"She ain't mad?"

"She didn't seem like it, Dad. Is she supposed to be?"

"Nah. Just curious."

There's another few minutes of silence as Trey gets into a semi-comfortable position, finally settling himself in the crook of my arm and his little face pressed into my neck. It's weird coz I've never actually been in this position where I'm not the smaller one in the bed. But it's nice nonetheless. He's a little ball'a fur and warmth pressed up against me. Probably how Gams feels when I get into bed with her.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Before you said 'fuck-mother', did you-"

"Trey, oh my God." I look at him with wide eyes, tryin' to maintain a serious look even though I wanna laugh my ass off. I almost wanna correct 'im, tell 'im, "Mother fuck, Trey," but I don't coz it's not exactly a good thing to teach impressionable six week old raccoons. "Uh, don't say that. That's a real bad word, buddy." A laugh breaks off at the end'a my sentence.

"Oh. Sorry."

"You didn't know. It's like the one ya corrected me on earlier but with, uh, another word attached to it." Keep it simple. "I ain't mad. Just don't ever say it again, 'specially not 'round Gams. Er, 'round Mom."

"Would she be mad?"

"Yeah. Not at you, but at me coz I'm a doofus for lettin' that slip. Keep it as our little secret?"

Trey nods up and down before he nuzzles his face into me again, and there's a few more minutes of peace and quiet.

But the kid. Never. Shuts. Up. And I don't mean it in a bad way either. He's just always got somethin' to say, somethin' to ask, somethin' to inform us of.

And this next one's a little bit, uh… sudden for me.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Drax was telling me about his family while you and Mom were gone."

"Uh-huh," I respond wearily. Hopefully he excluded the part where they got killed by a certain Kree dickface.

"Are me and you and mom and Duo and Uno a family?"

I don't know the answer to this at first.

"Yeah," I tell 'im firmly. "But add in a certain tree, Drax, and Star-Dork."

Trey snickers (fuckin' cute as hell, by the way) at that. "Peter's not a dork, Dad. He's Star-Lord. Outlaw name. It's cool."

"Ya haven't known 'im long enough to know he's a big dork, Trey. He calls himself Star-Lord with a straight face. Big. Dork." Trey pulls in tighter and I do the same, lettin' out a wide yawn.

"Ya gonna ever go to bed?" I ask Trey while scratchin' underneath of his chin. "You'll be tired by tomorrow if ya don't go to sleep soon."

"I-I'm not tired." The yawn Trey gives, wider than mine, really says otherwise.

"So that yawn was, what, you bein' wide awake?" I snidely ask with a grin.

Trey blinks. "Yes."

I laugh at that. "Buddy, c'mon. I'm tired. We both know you're tired. Let's get **some**sleep at least. S'gonna be a busy day, I think."

Finally, it's quiet. Too quiet. Dead quiet. So quiet you could-

"**Dad**?"

I sigh in amusement. I should'a known this was comin'. "Yeah Trey?"

"When are you gonna stop being stubborn and sleep with Mom again?"

Jeez. This kid. Is. Frickin'. Killin'. Me.

"Tomorrow, buddy. Tomorrow for sure."

And we finally doze off together after I assure him that it's all gonna be okay tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>It's not just one voice that wakes me up in the morning.<p>

"Daaaad?"

"Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad."

"Daaaaaaaaad. Wake uuuuuuuup."

It's all three.

I guess I'm wakin' up than.

"Okay. Uno, ya on my fa-**ow**." Nails are still a thing with 'em. And one of 'em that just crawled over my stomach sure as hell let me know he's got 'em growin' strong. It's either Duo or Trey since they're both not sittin' on my face like Uno, but it don't really matter.

I lift Uno off my face and sit up, rubbin' the grogginess outta my eyes while the three continue chirpin' "Dad" at me.

"Guys, whoa, relax. Just woke up." Duo plops down in front of me, seemingly waitin' for me to give him head scratches that he's come to just expect as soon as ya open your eyes. "How was sleepin' with just Mom last night?"

"Weird," Duo says simply. I'm expectin' him to say more but that's it.

"Yeah, weird," Uno confirms.

So it was just weird. Okay. Good.

Trey pulls himself up with two hands on my shoulder to balance himself and says right into my ear, "Dad, are you still stubborn?"

"What's stubborn?" Duo asks.

"It's what Mom called Dad." Uno says as he crawls over to Duo's side.

"I thought he was Dad?"

Holy shit. They're gonna be the death of me, honestly.

"Boys, relax. Never seen ya so hyper," I tell 'em, settin' Trey down next to his brothers. We may have only had 'em for, what, a couple'a weeks or somethin' like that now, but they seem almost wired right now. "Sleep good?"

The three nod in unison before Uno announces, "Mom wanted us to wake you up."

Wait. What?

"Good," I say without thinkin'. That's a good thing, right? Maybe she wants to talk about our little spat last night. "What time is-"

"I am Groot," Groot croons groggily as he pokes his head into the room. It is nine on Felix.

"Why are you up?" I ask him. Usually Groot gets up when I get up. I didn't even notice he was gone from his usual spot on the wall.

Groot points at the three on my bed with a very fake disgruntled look. "I am Groot," he says menacingly. Them…

I snicker and scratch Uno and Duo on the head. "Good job, boys. Tick Groot off more often." I wave a hand toward the tree with his head in the doorway. "Groot, keep 'em occupied for a sec," I say as I plop to the ground and pull a sleeveless shirt that had been thrown to the floor outta laziness over my head.

"I am Groot?" he asks while he lumbers in. Where are you going?

"I gotta talk to someone 'bout somethin'. Just keep 'em distracted."

"He's gonna go tell Mom he's not stubborn anymore," Trey announces proudly.

Well, he's sorta right 'bout that.

* * *

><p>When I find Gamora, it's in the last place I expected her to be. I checked the galley but only found Drax. The ship's thrusters kicked on a second later, but we hadn't left the moon quite yet. Presumably, Quill's up in the cockpit, ready to shoot us off somewhere else.<p>

"Idiot. Should'a let us known we was gettin' off'a here. Kids aren't even…" I mumble a shit ton of nonsense under my breath while I trudge myself up the cockpit stairs, ready to tell Quill it's too early for this shit.

Shufflin' over to the pilot's seat, one finger rasied matter-of-factly, I start, "Quill, it's too early for this sh-"

I think maybe Quill don't have black hair and ain't green-skinned. Last time I checked he wasn't. So, whoops. That's Gamora.

"Oh." That's all I say after I cut off myself off awkwardly. "Didn't know it was you."

"Well, it's me," she says before lookin' at the controls and fiddlin' aimlessly.

Finally. Speakin' to me. Thank Gods.

Head sorta low, I take the seat next to hers and sit with my hands in my lap. "So, um. About yesterday?"

She doesn't look at me, but she does raise her eyebrows as if to say, "Go on."  
>"I, um… I didn't mean t' belittle ya or nothin'," I confess. "I'm just… y'know, worried. Also an idiot. I'm a bigger idiot than I am worried." For a sec, I expect her to laugh at that, but there's little change in Gamora's expression.<p>

"Ya don't deserve that. I was wrong. I mean, I still think we should keep 'em with us but I was wrong to be so rude t' ya. Okay? And I'm real, real sorry, Gamora."

There's a few moments of silence before Gamora looks to me. "Rocket, I'm-" But she doesn't get to finish up quite yet. Somethin' on the panel starts blinkin' wildly, a slight buzzin' noise fillin' the cockpit.

"What's that?"

I don't get an answer right away. Instead, Gamora's eyes get big and she mutters, "Damn," under her breath. So I take a look for myself, and for a second I think Yondu sold us out. But Yondu ain't that big of an asswipe.

It reads 'Incoming Prowl Cruiser Ahead - Unidentified Origin.'

Ahead? That means it'd be right out the airlock wind-

"Oh, shit."

Up ahead, at least a good distance away from us, is a ship of black-and-red, sleek and compact, just startin' to land on the moon's dusty surface.

"That's the ship from Demura," Gams says. "Used it as a diversion?"

"Wait, who-"

**Oh**.

Guess they found us faster than we anticipated.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>twelvepercentofaplan<span>: 'Fuck-mother' - Very minor reference to 'Chappie'. Saw the movie, thought it was okay, but Chappie as a character is hilarious. Go see it just for the character.**_

_**Also, Halfworlders are dicks. They need to chill.**_


End file.
